Dear Moth:
You are very different than the other learners here, Moth. You, with your nanostructured compound eyes and lepidopteran proboscis pressed against the glass like a child by a case of penny-candy. We, with our opposable digits curled around mass-produced Ticonderoga pencils and vertebrate spines arched over humorously small wooden desks.
I have half a mind to take down these smudged, glassy barriers between us; besides the obvious evolutionary divide, we are really quite similar. Both are here to live. Those of us within these four paned walls are carving a future for ourselves out of capitalism and anxiety and calculus and standards of achievement and bureaucracy, with nothing more than a set of eight blue-ink pens from Walgreen’s. Those outside are comfortable to watch, as long as the warm electric glow continues to hum.
We, who by our own volition readily leave the heating mechanisms that our species has evolved over thousands of years to create as soon as our time-telling devices dictate, have yet to discover the self-inflicted absurdity of which you have already taken advantage. Perhaps you, Moth, are the most learned in this institute of higher learning. These century-aged buildings have come to symbolize intelligence, yet those who plant themselves on their periphery are in possession of the most worthy claim on common knowledge. You are beyond our arbitrary measures of intellect. If you really are graced by such insight:
Go hibernate, Moth. I’ll be happy if at least one of us can.
Yours,
Student