ORIGINS: It started with the word stoolpigeon. The stool and the pig were easy to spot. We wrote it in two lines, the l touching the eon, and thanks to a little bit of magic, otherwise known as translation, the lion joined its friends.
*Stoolpigeon, in another language, conjures up images of blowing winds or blowing wolves.
I learned from a wolf, to blow until there is no air left in my lungs. To infuse that air with my life, with my warmth, with every last thing I have to give. And I chose not to waste it on revenge. I found a lion, and I chose to infuse life, majesty into its mane. Because I heard somewhere that revenge is a voracious rat, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life atop a stool hiding from it.
I used to believe that our friendship would last forever. Because you were a lion, you made me feel safe and you always knew how to lift me up. But somewhere along the way I forgot that our friendship didn’t only rest on your shoulders. I forgot that there were parts of our friendship that were mine to protect. And I wasn’t prepared. When the wolf finally came, it didn’t take more than a puff of air, to blow that thing we had built together far, far away.
I learned my lessons in friendship from my stuffed toys, from my lion and my pig. I gave them a voice and, in exchange, they were always there for me. To let me hug them close to my heart, and have that mean something. I learned not to take, without giving something first.
Nothing is sacred, nothing remains secret for long. I thought that friendship meant trusting someone else with my secrets, but I learned that honor doesn’t exist. I learned that the wind blows, louder than a lion, and it leaves you feeling dirtier than a pig. That betrayal comes as natural as breathing, and the wind always comes back. I learned the hard way, that there is nothing behind me, to protect me from those blows.