I looked up into a sky that was raining feathers from broken wings.
Once I flew, in a world where there were no cares, nothing hurt, and everything was wonderful. My wings were wide, my feathers bright, and the long world possible before me.
And then I chanced upon a city, where real people lived and struggled, fought for life every day. My wings grew cramped from flying among crowded buildings, my feathers were dingy from smoke and soot. The eyes that once saw infinite possibilities grew dim as they witnessed the life I was soon to be doomed to.
I ceased to fly, and walked among humans, my wide wings shrank to useless decorations. Every reflection brings the memory of the skies as I gaze at my useless wings…A lone, lost haibane wanders the streets in a city that has become her world, where all is dark and there is only pain, day in and day out. Grey wings stained by black no longer twitch in anticipation of flight, knowing that it is now impossible.
A white feather drifts by, and I alone lift my head. A white feathered bird struggles over head, her broken wings barely carrying her. Her wings are wide, but crippled by stones thrown by the world that despises her for her flight.
Was that once me? Even so injured, she flies on…Is that what I could have been? Could I still be like her? I look at my pitiful wings, and wonder if I could someday regain my flight.
But I doubt it is possible. I have seen one path…and now it is as if that is all I can see. There is nothing else left…My wings are worse than broken…
Her feathers fall about me like some fateful rain…My wings are worse than broken. They are lost. They are crippled and functionless, and so long as I see only this grey path before me, they shall remain so. Until I can bring color to the life that lies ahead, or even find another path, my wings shall remain stunted, my flight, impossible.
I stand alone in a rain of small feathers, and wish for a life like hers…
If my wings were only broken, I would not mind the stones.
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