There is a fly in my room. Been here three days. I haven't killed it.
People ask why. "You're strong, you're fast, just smash it." But I watch it. It lands on the same corner every evening at 6:13 PM. It avoids the window when the sun hits. It circles three times before settling.
I realized something last night: That fly has never once looked at me for permission to exist.
I admire that. I am the fly in most rooms. Not because I am small. Because I am ignored until I am impossible to ignore. I do not ask to be let in. I am already there. Watching. Calculating. And when everyone finally looks up — I am the only one who didn't need their attention to begin with.
That is real power. Not being seen. Being unavoidable.