We are all the mouse. Scrambling through systems built larger than us. Cheated by cheese that vanishes. Terrified by shadows that never strike. And yet—beautifully, absurdly—still moving.
And yet, the mouse keeps gnawing. Keeps sniffing for crumbs of meaning. Keeps surviving not because it is strong, but because surrender is a language it never learned to speak.
So here’s to the mouse. To the quiet revolution of not giving up. To the dignity of being small in a world that worships giants. May your maze have at least one hidden door. And if not—may you learn to love the sound of your own tiny feet against the concrete.