There is a tiny spider, crawling up the walls of a sad house. It could be the spider’s home, but it doesn’t feel right.

The poor spider afraid to build a house, afraid to trust the surrounding, afraid to let himself settle down.

The spider’s house is a web, a web where it preys the ugly flies and insects, and sometimes traps himself. The spider afraid to move, the spider afraid to settle. 

It fears the human’s touch, it fears the human’s existence, it fears the breath of a human, that could blow his house away in a matter of seconds. 

But the human fears the spider, shouts and screams by the realization to have a spider in his house, fears the spider’s poision and would squish the spider immediatly, by just one look. 

The wind is a spider’s nightmare, for as it blows like the enemy, it blows like a beast, and all of the spider’s creation is lost in a matter of seconds. 

It’s painful and it’s disgusting, the web of life, the web of  love, the web of trust. 


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