And who doesn’t like birds? Their death is always justified by flight. I only wanted to draw closer to them, cutting off the weight of what had been lived, to gain the lightness of the future. The past is always against wings. It is easier to run from it than to drag it like a sack on fragile shoulders.
Did I know how it would all end? No, for the future is unknown, and that is why it is alluring. My slain selves, like jealous lovers, followed me; they wanted explanations. And what could I say? I am a bird. My lot is flight, theirs is killing. Someone’s desire will always be fulfilled. How sad that this time it was not mine.