Well, One Life . . .

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Most days I fail to save anyone. Perpetual loss, pain, fearing. Nothing I can do to stop it for anyone, ultimately not even myself. It’s October and a spider has taken up residence in my bathtub. I see her sip at the drain, the delicate way she tries to climb the tub walls, sliding down, then managing a sideways crawl. I collect her in a cup. Spider tea, I think, smiling, moving her outside to the last dahlia blossom, which I can’t stop from turning to mildew, to brown fragments. She hangs on with her dazzling eight legs anyway.

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