literature

Empty Nest

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intricately-ordinary's avatar
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Literature Text

and as your sepia-saturated voice fades into the night

you will remember all those dreams you woke from,
weeping, for the conversations you'd never
have and the people you'd never get back

you will remember the flock of birds that used to
reside in your chest, pounding against your
ribcage, crying to be free (and you will try
to remember the day their wings went silent)

as you hear the leaves hum and the sky pulse,
you will try to fall into cadence with the steady
music of nature, but instead begin to believe you're just

an outlier.

you will tell yourself, in your needly, narcissistic
way: you are a falling star, a withering celestial
being- you never quite fit in

and it will mean that the words you had engraved in
your ceiling (the last thing you see before you sleep)
about how one day, you'd mean something, you'd be
something, you would finally morph into a person
beautiful and magical and worthwhile

came to be another poorly told story,
too.

and as your whispers die in an unwelcoming night
you will know

the birds have never [will never] break free.
Sometimes I think we have birds in our chests and whispers in our throat that will never come out.
© 2012 - 2024 intricately-ordinary
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autumnlit's avatar
This is incredible in so many ways. :heart: You amaze me. ^^
Some birds have to be let free though, I think. :heart: