Two clandestine histories. One unearthed. The disparate ends wave in the wind like tails of a ribbon, searching for release. The clipped wing bird crashes as she attempts to fly, but her sister's flight makes her believe. Every star in the night twinkles in her teary eye; the cool moon will not listen to her pleas. But she can regain her strength, and some day she will soar, for that is what birds are meant to do.
No comments:
Post a Comment