I found a bird one day,
while I was walking down a park.
Torn and tattered, unable to fly.
So I brought her home.
Nurtured her. Fed her. Wrapped bandages around her wings and legs.
For once, my home was never empty.
And I always had the urgency to go home sooner
every time I went for a walk,
For I had no longer felt like I was in need of a longer walk no more.
I took a good care of her every day,
sometimes too much.
That I kind of felt like she was,
trying to prove that, it is somehow strangling her,
for not being able to fly,
even though I never intended to put her in a cage. Not at all.
And one day,
I went for a longer walk.
Long enough that I somehow had forgotten to feed her.
And when I came back,
she was lying on the floor,
gasping for air.
So I did my best to revive her
though I did know what I was doing.
Somehow she was able
to recover a little bit,
by a shed of light that came through the window.
Long I pondered,
before having a thought of
opening up the window,
and letting her fly in the open sky.
Because I know, one day she will fly back safely to home.
wherever it may be.
And I will never ever regret,
albeit the fact that I am hurting
wondering what had happened;
not a single day that I did not mourn.
Not a single day that I did not went for a walk.
Not a single day that I did not bleed every time I breathe.
Because she had left me a feather by the window,
that will somehow shine as a relic
to remind me everyday of the moment we had,
And to give me strength to smile,
That she has flown, to find a sanctuary.
I will be patiently looking at the skies and in between the pleasant clouds,
Looking for a sign.