So I was cleaning up my desk and trying to get myself to read a book when I saw a moth landing on the window sill. To say that the moth was huge would be an understatement; it was almost the size of my little finger. It had its wings spread out like an eagle; I assume it was still trying to be comfortable with its spot. I watched the moth for a few moments, and ended up watching it till I went to sleep.

The lights in my room were on, and I can safely assume that it was trying to get closer to the source of light. What difference does it make to a moth if the source of light is not natural, like the moon and stars? All it was a source of light in front of its eyes. It was as if the moth were Mr Gatsby. Who am I kidding with these comparisons?

I cleaned up my desk, and was seeing, from the corner of my eye, the various attempts made by the elderly moth to find a way to enter the room. Alas, the window was covered with plastic gauze, and there was no way in for the moth. It was a patient moth, not unlike a restless cockroach. I tried to focus on its eyes, and I could imagine the legend of the Mothman being born. I encourage you to look it up – the Mothman is an urban legend which was captured on paper and film. It was hairy, its eyes were hollow and dark, and it was staring at the light source.

I went to sleep after sometime. I woke up to see the wrinkled body of the moth near the window sill. I felt guilty; I knew how much the moth wanted to be closer to the light source. I didn’t help it, and ended up being a silent spectator.

The moth had one dream, one attainable dream – and it was left unfulfilled.