Once again we have words that sound alike, but this time they belong to different languages. I hate you becomes the color white, it becomes a castle. And the murmuration of starlings appears because hatred always starts as a small noise that can barely be heard, and soon becomes a flight of black birds.
Once upon a time there was a princess that lived in the tallest tower of an entirely white castle. A castle where everything was white, except the starlings that had their nests under the roof of her tower. The princess ended up full of hatred. Surrounded by dark starlings that sang every day, lending their voices to her hatred. Because the castle was white, and the princess had been forbidden to color. For fear that she would color outside the lines, outside the papers. In the floors, in the walls of that castle. And the stains would never come out.
Living in a castle doesn’t make you special. I live in a hole surrounded by dirt and paintings on the walls. They forbid me to paint too. If anyone has a grudge it’s me.
Hate isn’t black because that is the color of starlings. Hate is black because everyone does whatever they please. Because they paint outside their lines, encroaching on someone else’s. One color over another gives way to black, to something that cannot be recognized anymore.
I would never be that princess. Her hatred is born because something was taken from her, because she wasn’t allowed to paint. But then the starlings sing that hatred. They take the only thing she had left. And I wouldn’t let that happen to me.
I don’t like this story. There was another path. Birds either sing or fly. They could have flown far away taking the princess’ hatred with them, they could have saved the princess. But they chose to stay. They chose to sing. And let that hatred resonate.
It’s too late for me. If someone had told me from the beginning that hatred is a chain too, I would have accepted that ban on painting. I would have chosen the less painful chain. But now it’s too late. Hatred holds me captive and I will never break free from that chain.
I dislike the princess from the story, because she doesn’t realize what she has. The starlings are wasted on her. They sing her hatred, and she doesn’t realize what that is. That they paint it outside her own lines. They could spread her hatred, but I don’t have that option. I am alone, trapped inside myself.