I was flying again. Like a bird in the sky. A stork. No, not a stork, a sparrow…a wild goose…whatever. I was a bird, any bird. All the heaviness was gone. Those dark cobble streets of the town where life had stopped. Those walls of the houses, long covered in stains but used to be bright yellow goodness knows when. And people…those small-minded people who seemed to know everything. Every single thing. Who would never pass me without an open stare or whispering behind my back. Or that dull phrase from the bravest ones…about how promising my future seemed to be years ago. So what?! Like they did care! If not me, who would they talk about? Who would they poke their pretty little fingers at? I won’ t let to be dragged back down. Not this time. I could finally breathe. And see. I was free…to be. To be myself again. But you wouldn’ t understand – you have never been a bird. All the pain was gone and nobody could hurt me. Never again.
Another small white bump in the spoon was melting. Reaching for a syringe with her trembling, pale fingers she was ready for the last flight…
trajectory of a tear
longer than any path taken
loneliness is not contagious
Image courtesy of Jason Wolcott