"They say that some birds are meant to be caged... Is that true?" She asked, tipping her head to the side.
"Might be, might not," He answered,
"It's all about perspective. Maybe, we're all carrying our cages whilst flying. And maybe, it's dragging us down without us knowing. Our cages might be our friends, our families, occupations, love, emotions, and we just think of it as daily things. Maybe, our life is our cage, and we all keep walking as if it's normal. Maybe, there's a key to every cage, but to get them, you must destroy every iron and rust. Maybe, we're the keys. Maybe, we don't want to escape this living prison. Maybe, this life is a cage, and we don't want to acknowledge all of this madness."
"--Maybe, we're all carrying our cages whilst flying. Just, maybe."
She contemplated for a second. Two seconds. "It's all about perspective... I don't have a cage."
"Then you are free."
//k.u.
YOU ARE READING
When I Can't Do Anything Else
PoetryWhen I can't do anything else, I write poems. [Became #1 in Poetry a long time ago]
