An open letter to the ladybug I found on my window and now believe has been living in my room for two months, written after I have been watching “Homeland” all morning:

ciaI see you there.  I know you know who I am.  So let’s go on.  No, I know you can’t always rely on me to have foliage for you to hide in on the shelf, I sometimes let things get a little dry up there.  No, I don’t think anyone made you.  You’re good.

So we understand each other.  I have to stop you right here, and say, you are too small.  Your shade of orange intrigues me, but I just can’t, with you appearing and disappearing, and me not even sure if it’s the same you, and who knows how long you’re gonna make it, anyway?  It’s fall.  It’s chilly.  Have you noticed?  I gotta go.  I gotta go.  I can’t do this.  Take a gun.

All right.  We can work this out.  We have to figure out something that will make sense.  You’re here, I’m here, and I’m holding all the cards.  This is my place now, always has been.  At my age, I’m gonna notice you’re sticking around, and it’s gonna mean something to me, sure.  You do mean something to me.  You’re around, and that means something, I guess, even if I didn’t know what to make of you.  You have that springtime feel about you.  Like I almost think I can relax with you.  I mean, you’ve been watching me, so you must get me.

We gotta get you somewhere you can actually make things happen.  Being with me, I know, it doesn’t make any sense.  I know you.  I hardly know if I am coming or going myself, and here you’re on my pillow waiting for me to show back up again at the end of a long day.  But I know you.  I’m the only one who really knows you.

But I didn’t know.  Goddamn it, I didn’t know!  I may be good at this, but I can still make mistakes.  I thought I had it figured out, but maybe everything has’nt led to this.  Maybe it is best for you to be here.  Maybe this is the safest haven you’ve got.  Just keep your head down.  Stay way up on that window.  Maybe somehow we can make this work.

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