by Cat Hughes
Billions died on the journey. Some dragged themselves through mud until their legs were sturdy on firm ground. Some took to the sky, stumbling and tumbling like leaves in the breeze until they found their form. Some returned to the sea, tentative splashes turning into powerful dances. Some invented a man with a beard who lives on a cloud. Then they gave him the credit for all that hard work.
Cat Hughes often regrets clicking "send" instead of "delete."