Waiting for bugs
It was getting hot in my room. I closed the book I was reading and set it on the nightstand. I pulled the covers off, swung my legs to the side, put my feet on the ground, and stood up from the bed.
I walked over to the window and slid the pane of glass to the side. I felt the cool night air come in and hit my bare chest. The leaf of the plant on my desk trembled. I stood there and watched, waiting.
It's summer in Denver and our building is by the river. When I opened the window a few weeks ago, no less than a hundred bugs flew into the room in less than a minute. After that, I didn't open the window for weeks.
Tonight, I thought it might be worth the risk, but I still wasn't sure, which is why I'm standing here, watching the open window, feeling the cold air hitting my chest, waiting to see if there will be any bugs.