Have you ever shared intimacy with a fly? One of those surreal encounters where you were in communion with an entity five hundred times smaller than yourself who seemed to look you in the eye? A tiny being who showed interest in what was on your mind, maybe even hoping you wanted to know what was on his.

My fly might have been attracted to me because I’d been sitting all day in one spot blending into my surroundings, typing away on my keyboard. This big ole beauty hung out with me the whole time, landing on my desk, walking over my pens and notebook, sort of mellow, like he had nothing better to do. It’s that time of year when flies go from frenetic to mellow and back to frenetic in their final hours. This fly picked me for his last hoorah.

About every hour, he would lift off and zoom around my head for at least fifteen minutes straight, even bonking me once or twice. I must have ignored him too long. I would forget about him, only to be distracted from writing when I caught his movement out of the corner of my eye. He buzzed occasionally to remind me he was there as he meandered behind my pencil cup, across my glass of water, and along my phone.

He bounced off my forehead for the last time about an hour ago. I didn’t mean it, but my reflexes had me swatting at him and we collided. I haven’t seen him since, and now I’m sad.