Birds | #flashfiction

It was a brisk spring morning, not a sound but the birds in the sky. The birds sing to each other, a song I can’t quite understand, but it comforts me. It’s the sounds of the spring and summer, and they start bright and early.

I sit and I listen, and I wonder. I wonder what it means to matter, what it means to fly. I wonder why the birds sing in the morning and wake me, and I wonder why I leave my window cracked to let them. I guess it’s a sense of familiarity, that no matter where I’m waking up, there will be birds. They’ll wake me first thing and I’ll feel tired in the morning, but I’ll wake up after some coffee and eggs and toast.

I sit and I listen to the birds, and I notice the difference in their calls. Some are one same repetitive sound, some are intricate, and some are making it up as they go. Or at least it seems that way. They all have the same effect. It all wakes me before my alarm, and I can’t help but listen.

I sit and I listen, and I wonder what it’s like to fly like a bird. I wonder how it feels to glide with the breeze, this effortless instinct that could never come natural to me. I feel jealous of the birds, their lives feel so much simpler than mine.

I sit and I listen, and I imagine I am a bird. I close my eyes as I lay in bed and I pretend I am soaring high above the clouds, or down within the trees. I’m collecting twigs and trash for my nest and I’m singing for the people still asleep.

I wonder if birds feel loneliness. I think it must be easier to be a bird, even if they do feel lonely. To be a blue jay or a robin or maybe even a hawk. I wonder if birds feel lonely, what do they do? Do they go for a fly to take their minds off it? Do they find other birds to connect with? Is that why they sing and wake me? Because they feel the same loneliness I do, and they just want to belong.

I sit and I listen, and I know if I could fly, I wouldn’t feel this overwhelming isolation. If I could fly, if I were a bird, I could blend in, I could be a part of nature. I could migrate south in the winter and travel the world. I could be something bigger than I could ever be as a human. I could contribute to the ecosystem, instead of destroying it. I could matter. If I were a bird, if I could fly, I would matter.

the sticky summer air

The sticky summer air

wants to know how I’ve been

since we last talked.

I’ve had my ups and downs

but I’m here now.

I didn’t find God

but I did find a purpose

hidden somewhere between the stationary aisle of CVS

and New England in September.

Sometimes winter feels like going

through hell and back just to

feel summer warmth again

but it’s worth it

or at least there’s some gratitude

as I’m sitting under

a cherry blossom

and I feel myself blossom,

too.

table

And I was so focused on the table

Brown with a crack down the middle

I couldn’t imagine ever taking my eyes off it

Especially not to look at your face

I could picture it just fine in my head

Even after the tears welled

And I couldn’t see anything anymore

I knew you were looking right at me

if I ever feel it again #flashfiction

I didn’t feel anything when he left. I took all the energy I would’ve had and lost myself in all the things I loved before he came into my life, as if I hadn’t changed in the last two years. And it was somewhere around the third week that I realized with each person that leaves, a part of me dies. And someday there will only be flesh and bone that’s left, but even that was never mine.

And I wonder if I’ll ever feel it again.

void

There will always be a void

deep inside my chest

there’s one for you

and all the others who’ve left

and I want to believe

that someday these voids will be filled

but it’s true what they say

that everyone leaves

and sometimes they come back

but sometimes when they do

they don’t do it because they missed you

or your jokes or your stories

they missed the attention you gave them.

fresh

I will write your name over and over

until it does not hurt anymore

and if that takes a thousand pages

at least it will be over.

and I will forgive you someday

but first I have to forgive myself

and sure, I’ve learned to love myself

but it’s still fresh

it started when I left