Memoir of a Cobweb

I am a simple being. Still unobserved—everywhere, yet unnoticed all the same. I am the echo of silk, once spun with purpose, now holding only the weight of absence.

Back then, I trembled with life. Eight tiny legs danced upon my fragile threads, each step sending vibrations through my fragile structure.

It was then that I knew warmth. Within design, I found tranquility. A home, once carefully crafted with patience and instinct, stretched between corners like constellations stitched in silk.

I was not born beautiful. I was born useful.

Yet I do not envy the chandelier hanging heavily above me. Beauty fades beneath neglect all the same.