Good morning, feathered friend.
I’ve been thinking about you.
Did dreams visit you last night?
Mine held a light I couldn’t keep.
I woke still heavy with sleep,
my mind a maze without a story.
The world outside was already moving —
work, cold water, noise —
and I stayed behind in a dream I didn’t want to leave.
Birds, how do you carry so much freedom?
You rise and sing like it costs nothing.
I can’t feel myself anymore.
I asked the sky for an answer.
The birds only sang.
Still, your melody moved through the leaves.
Something in it stayed with me —
a remnant from the dream.
Were you there?
I reached for you, but the chains of sleep held me down.
So I stand here, lost and cold,
listening.
Maybe there’s a fragment still left for me.
