Moth

You are dark brown and about half the size of a pinkie finger. With a couple of lighter brown spots low on the wings. Let's call you Moth. You have been living for at least a week in the women's restroom, east, of the second floor at 34 Boulevard of the Allies.

Living motionless. For days on end.

On Wednesday, you move from bathroom stall window (this is a very old building) to the counter by the bathroom mirror. And remain motionless after that.

Then, late in Thursday afternoon, I go in to brush my teeth and you are grooming yourself, then fluttering. Up and around. Grey ceramic tile walls on one side, fluorescent lights above. A window on the other side of this old room, but your are too far from it to escape, if you want to. Fluttering away from me as I contemplate catching you in a coffee cup. (Yes, I am at work here.) Moth-like, you head for the fluorescent lights and rest.

Today is Friday and you are gone. I had pushed open a window, so maybe you flew out from four to six walls and escaped. Hope you fluttered to good place, Moth.