Mockingbird

Leaves begin to grow as spring finally arrives. There is no more sense of winter except for the cold breeze that would sometimes pass by. Perched on a branch, you see a bright glow in the sky but yet you see not the source of where the light is coming from. You begin to wonder how is it a little creature like you would survive in this horrid world. Alone, it is as if you no longer feel the comfort of another. Perhaps that is it...

You spread your wings just to get rid of the cold feeling you begin to have, shaking away as you do. Why is must it be this way? The coldness of winter has faded but yet you still feel cold, somewhere deep inside. Filling your lungs with the morning air, you feel every inch of your lungs expanding and there you feel a lump. A lump of which you know the source of the cold. A lump inside your heart.

You have been flying alone, and that you see others but yet they do not stick around. You try your best to have them at ease with your presence but what you do not know is that they are just there to find peace themselves and so they fly away once they have had their share.

What is it about being you that somehow pushes others away? You yourself ponder upon the same question for endless nights. Are you even relevant to this world? Would it be better to wither away like the leaves in autumn? The coldness that is in your heart begins to sink in... Freezing every single inch of your heart until you now feel nothing but a mere insignificant mockingbird.