| on_becoming_a_bird | ||
| perfectly_chaotic |
At a certain point I contemplated becoming a bird. What would mean to forage the Earth's floors? On an average day, would there be no true care in the world aside from being devoured? Of course there would be that one time of year where those lessons about the birds and the bees could be put to use. Perhaps I could dance as a bird of paradise, or sing as a robin as I raise my tail; would I still be distressed were I to fail? Or should I succeed, would I want to pull my own feathers out for the stress of worrying about my offspring? Oh, but what a joy it would be to fly through the sky. Surely the wind would feel wonderous. Yet, my wing could break one day. Would this broken bird then forever fail to fly? Would there be a wish to no longer be a bird? |
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