Scrolling down with her middle finger on the already cracked screen of her not-so-old mobile phone, she looked at all those telephone numbers she was unlikely to come to use ever again. She wasn’t sure what to do with any of them. Delete, she wondered. It felt a bit harsh, somehow. Even though all those numbers were attached to a hardly memorable handful of text-filled chat boxes. That quickly can we tell we are not each other’s piece of cake; meeting up with no agenda takes up space in today’s productivity calendar. Delete or would that mean I hold any anger, I’m bitter. She was told once that to be bitter is to be resentful towards somebody. She didn’t think there was any bitterness inside her for no one, not even for those predators she had bumped into along the way. If so, they made me less afraid of any of them, even stronger shall I be to meet one of that kind again. She wished no one ever had to face that kind of faith but she knew it was way too much to ask, even for her very own grand fairy godmother. The one that whispers to her ear, tells her about her powers, secrets about life, her own and that of the natural world. Whispers all those plans b’s, sets them cosily puffed and patted right under her feet shall she need to rest, and feel safe. Leave the unnecessary behind, pack light, emotionally at least, and look up with wide-opened eyes. In the jungle, sometimes, one cannot see the claw coming until it’s deep right under the skin, breaking veins, ripping off muscle texture, and blood all over the place. One gets out of there however one can, forgets never, and saves imprinted in the brain forever that split second the senses caught the almost inaudible cracking of dry leaves, the whisper in the weeds, announcing the creature hiding behind the pretty colours blinding one’s sight. Delete, her finger sliding to the left.