To the small, white bug that inadvertently flew into my nose: I am sorry. I was mid-jog when out of nowhere I saw you, flying waywardly in the air and suddenly vacuumed into my nose.
Aaagh. Despite the tickling in my nose and feeling of disgust, I smiled at a passing father and his two small sons out on a bike ride. I could feel you – stuck in the most compromising of places, that middle place in my nose where you weren’t quite deep enough to be blown in or out. I coughed and wiped at my nose and inhaled deeply until I could no longer feel a thing.
While you were a nuisance of no more than two minutes to me, it was a deathtrap for you. Your delicate wings flapped wildly against the inner trappings of my mucous, fighting to make it out. Where had you been headed? Did your tiny mind manage to comprehend what a losing battle you had entered? Did you die right away? Did you float in my system for a while, a little bug on a lava-like ride? I was bigger than you, therefore I trumped you, I won, I enveloped you in a second.
I am apologizing because I know what it is like to not receive an apology when it would have made all the difference to get one. I am sorry, because even you, the smallest and most seemingly insignificant of creatures, deserve it just as much as I do.