In the shadows, they hide—silent, patient, unshaken. 

A day without food? Nothing. They’ve mastered the art of hunger. 

A week passes, yet they wait, lurking in cracks and corners. 

A month drifts by, their tiny bodies slowing but never stopping. 

Two months, three… still, they endure, surviving on mere whispers of air. 

Half a year, and some grow weak, but the strongest hold on. 

Twelve months, and yet—some remain, stubborn ghosts of the night. 

A bed bug, unfed, can outlast a year, waiting for its moment. 

Then, one night, warmth returns—breath, movement, life. 

And in the darkness, hunger awakens once more.