Something in the Shrub.

I walked by a shrub. Something in it moved.
I looked at it. Something went quiet.
I moved. Something moved again.
– Hey, – I said.
– Hey, – echoed Something.
– Who are you? – I asked.
– Who are you? – said Something.
– A… being… – I said.
The shrub was quiet. I moved.
Something moved and asked "Why?"
– Because I am, – I said.
– Wrong, – said Something.
– Who are you? – I asked.
Something was quiet.
I turned away. Something moved again.
– Hey, – Something said.
– Yes? – I replied.
– Why do you want to know who I am? – Something asked me.
Now I went quiet and started to think. Why does it matter?  Was I scared of Something? Definitely. Did I know how to talk to it? Probably not. Was I going to treat Something differently after it answered my question? Sure. Was I afraid Something will treat me differently after I tell it who I am? Most likely. That's why I said I am a being. But really, who am I? A human, a girl, a college student, a worker, a person with a bruised past. Would I treat myself differently if I did not know any of that? Would I be more free? I froze. I had a world of opportunities in front of me, which I dismissed only because of the labels I gave myself. And here is Something. It does not care who I am. It just wants to talk to me. It does not want to find out who I am in order to measure how much of its hate it wants to give me. Maybe I should not be giving myself my own hate either? I don't even know half of the meaning of the labels I have, let alone whether there is any particular meaning to them at all. Maybe I should get to know myself first, and then fill my labels with meaning, rather than trying to fit in them?
– You meant, why I want to know who you are, didn't you? – I asked.
– Correct, – Something said.
– I don't know, – I said.
– I love you, – Something said.
– I love you too, – I said, feeling that I did not have to know who the creature was for me to say that.
Something moved again. I went quiet.
A rabbit jumped out of the shrub and looked at me. I took out my camera and the rabbit ran away. I got back to pruning my daisies – with a life lesson learned.

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