I consciously made my decision. Let them speculate. Let them say what they want to say. I like my solitude. I believe silence says more than enough.

I was one of them. They were a big part of my life but it’s a very curious thing, this change, this opinion they have about life. It’s as if they’d morphed into a different species. We were in the same cocoon. What happened along the way? I don’t understand how rats were swarming out by the dozens. I knew them when they were little caterpillars. Such a sweet, gentle little thing.

Maybe they ate a different kind of leaves. Maybe they’re adopted. Maybe they mutated. Maybe they think butterflies are too main stream.

Maybe.

They’re still my friends. No matter how they look, I said. I was wrong. You should listen to their chatter. The noise, the insults, the accusations. The whole lot. They said ‘you’re ugly!’, ‘you think you’re so pretty?’ and ‘you used us, you selfish bitch!’

Why speak when there is no good thing to accompany it?

So I decided that this is enough. I am enough. I don’t need loud ringing in my ears, false hopes and mediocre talents.

I hope they’re happy together, the whole bunch. It looks like forever.

I’ll just sit it out in the sun, unfolding my damp wings. And then you might understand a bit about flying, when you see my shadows as you fight for your mouldy cheese.

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