El mal del milano, las alas quebradas y el pico sano.
The stars of this saying are cowards that boast about brave deeds, trying to raise their worth in the eyes of others.
Once upon a time there was a kite that didn’t have the courage to let go of his branch and take wing. He was afraid of falling, the kite feared that the Sky wouldn’t catch him in flight. But he didn’t want to look like a coward in the eyes of other birds, so the kite broke his own wings to have an excuse not to fly.
Time flew, and his wings mended. The kite knew that he couldn’t break them again because nobody would believe him, so he called the Sky a coward. Distrusting, that’s the word he used. The kite told any bird who would listen that he would never fly in the Sky because it was a one-sided relationship. That he would never trust a Sky that was willing to catch birds in flight but unwilling to let go and be caught in return. The kite told every bird that if the Sky wasn’t willing to fly in them, he wouldn’t be another bird flying in a Sky that didn’t trust him.
However, to everybody’s astonishment, the Sky let go of its tree. It broke into pieces, and they fell into the wings of all the birds that had listened to the kite. The kite felt a piece of the Sky flying in his own wings, and he knew that he had run out of excuses. He could either fly or admit his own cowardice because saying that there was no longer a Sky out there is what a coward would do.
I like stormy days. Grey and green as far as the eye can see. Sharing my name with a kite made me who I am. I thought that treetops were clouds on a string. I thought that their roots ran deep because white clouds disappear in the blink of an eye and that has to be proof that the sky can’t be trusted. I am not alone in my fear, I have never felt like a coward in the crowd. And I pray the time to fly this nest never comes.
A little bird told me that every scar is a badge of honor, and I couldn’t think of a better hiding place for my cowardice. I spent hours looking for the perfect angle to break my wing. I aimed for the longest scar. It was my way of salting the ground. With any luck, I won’t regrow any flight feathers and I will have an everlasting excuse.
I might have run out of believable excuses, but that doesn’t mean that I have no other choice. Cowards like me might not have a backbone, but that only leaves more room for our imagination. I learned at a young age the trick to swaying hearts. If it comes down to fight or flight, most birds will fly. We are wired to suspend our disbelief, and I’m sure as the sky is blue that I will get my way this time, too.
I’m familiar with fear, it doesn’t send chills running down my spine anymore. Honeymoon periods don’t last, and I will get used to the sky in my wings soon enough. Feathers lose their edge and clouds never had it to begin with. It’s only a matter of time. Unlike fear, the sky doesn’t have a hold on my heart. I’m on a countdown to my next molt. And I’m sure it will be goodbye for good.
I used to be a trusting child. I didn’t know fear, and it’s easy to mistake that for courage. I wish I had given books a wide berth. Knowledge was supposed to be power, but the more I know, the heavier my heart gets. I haven’t taken my first flight yet, but I can already tell that it won’t end well.
Trusting someone to have my back would be a piece of cake. I wouldn’t mind trying my hand at wishful thinking. Realizing that you have been backstabbed with a birthday candle when the smoke clears has to hurt less than this. People are replaceable. They come and go from your life. But the sky is everything, and we aren’t just talking about a broken heart. Every cell in my body is aligned for flight. And that’s not something you can put in a cast.
Kites are heavier than balloons, they don’t fly too far away. Kites are easier to catch, they might get tangled in a tree, but at least they don’t burst. I’ve heard that trust can be rebuilt, but I am not a resilient child. I used to think that the sky was made of glass, just like my heart. But not even love is a two-way street. Who knows, maybe trust would be easier to rebuild if our shards got mixed together. But hearts like mine tend to be sole casualties.
Let’s not talk about the definition of insanity. Trust is like the sky. Something we take for granted. I was told that love is something that makes the heart race. Something that makes its presence known. I’ve lost count of how many times I have fallen out of love. But at least no one has broken my trust. Yay for small mercies!
Something tells me that my heart will never be as vast as the sky. I can’t promise unconditional love. I want to be a mother because I want six years of unconditional trust. As a child I had it in me, and my heart still remembers that it’s possible. But I can’t help wondering if it would be fair.
Children break your heart. Mine didn’t want to follow in my footsteps. The pull of the clouds was too strong and I didn’t have both feet on the ground. He hated my dreams. But that’s not the real tragedy. My child grew to resent his own imagination. No bird should ever have to break its own wings. And I wish I had never had a hand in it.
There’s an insurmountable gap between who we are and what others see. Dozens of clouds live in my heart. Family. Friends. Acquaintances. It wouldn’t be fair to lay this disillusion at their door. I have brought it upon myself. I know that the heart comes with inbuilt self-preservation mechanisms and happiness is one of them, but I should have kept my imagination on a shorter rein.
His heart: While you are at it, why don’t you ask for the moon too?