Snowmink loved the bugs They were the things that kept her sane, when everything else could not. Even when all hope was lost The bugs would come and save her from it all Save her from it all It all memory, noun /ˈmɛm(ə)ri/ ‘ something remembered from the past ‘ If she remembered it all, every little detail Then why didn’t she care? Seajelly cared /they/ cared But Ink? Not so much. She felt, that in some weird way, she couldn’t care. It was if a beetle had bitten a hole in her heart. A hole in her soul. The bugs helped. They were weird too, with their creepy eyes and their odd wings and their funny antenna. But the bugs were good. Their antenna helped them hear. Their wings helped them fly. Snowmink’s ears hardly worked properly, and they hurt often. Snowmink’s whiskers were bent and bitten. Snowmink had no wings to fly away on. Snowmink could never fly away. If she could, it’d be great. ‘Cause all the other bugs would smile and laugh and understand and comfort and love despite everything she wasn’t good enough at, even when she kept trying and trying and trying and trying and trying. But as her gaze fell upon her distorted reflection, sunlight shimmering over the ripples of the puddle.. Snowmink felt that for once The bugs weren’t helping.
—-> for those who don’t know, snowmink has absent grief now. Research for that will be provided in the next project. —-> this srp is meant to be kind of subtle in many ways. To clarify, snowmink has a new strange dislike for herself, as she doesn’t understand why she doesn’t feel as sad as she thinks she should. She uses the bugs as a mental anchor, so she can feel connected to the real world, instead of becoming an unidentifiable drifted rock in this world of bigger boulders. —-> btw please don’t judge my writing I’m trying :sob: this is also for weekly questttt
