Your move

Is there such thing as a flower with wings?

As the magician with the hat, I’ve build myself up to seem like I pull bravery out of my head. Here she goes again – moving to a completely different country at 15, barely able to hold a conversation in their language. 

Then she went again, back to college in the same country but a different spot, just to be sure. 

So this latest move – adulthood – was as good as given. Her wings had the thousand hours of flight experience required for her to level up; however; the curious thing is, she hadn’t stretched them in too long.

So they hurt. 

And it wasn’t just gravity weighing on her feathers like the bird caught in the oil spill – her flowery feet, sneaky as a sweet tooth that craves the honeys and sugars she finds in people and places, had grown roots that meant both her imprisonment to the present and her challenge to freedom. Leaving or staying, old memories or new memories, always the choice.

But in the end, as her roots started to savor the bittersweet last taste of goodbye, her wings were already spread. 

She did indeed wonder why birds didn’t fly around the world. 

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