closer and whispered into my ear, “We’re still ants, just feeling out ridges in the great cosmic garden path.” That seemed pretentious at the time. A few years later and I was the ant, looking for the ridges in your personality; some dumb insect waddling about, it felt like, doubling back on myself, pressing forward, doubling back, pressing forward - just desperately trying to find whatever it is dumb ants are after - respite, solace, and a little love - and not getting so far with any of them.
