Those yellow wings, rapidly flapping to the violin strings of freedom, teased me. My days were numbered and I think he knew. He didn't ask, I said nothing, but he knew. And as his body brushed against the fast moving window, judging me because he had to, I smiled. And for the first time in a very long time, I meant it.
Because definitions are overrated. A carefully constructed sentence written in such a way so as to sound perfectly beautiful ends up being very unemotional. I know because I have been failing time and time again. Because words, powerful as they may be, pale in comparison to what you feel on the inside. Finding the heartfelt poetic phrases to describe that funny little feeling of lightheaded happiness remains understandably unreal. Much like the happily ever after of a prince and a princess after he clumsily climbs her generous golden hair. Because as much as I want to, sometimes you just can't.
Sometimes, and simply because it was meant to be this way, that rapidly flapping feeling inside your heart is the only definition worth embracing. The butterfly in your barefoot body asking you to live a little is hanging by a thread. Ignore it and it breaks.
Because the truth is, the consequence may be permanent, but the damage, well, that's only temporary.
If you ever get tired of the weak wingless butterfly inside of you,
remember the yellow wings of freedom you never really knew.