“Talk to yourself.”
But what do I say? Even to myself, I am too afraid to speak.
“You have plenty to say.”
“Everyone speaks, even with their bodies.”
How would you know?
“I see what you see. I am the curiosity that glitters in your eye.”
But you’re also the tape that keeps my mouth sealed.
“You hesitate because you know.”
I keep my hands at my sides.
“As if you were bound by rope, tightly knit and all to yourself.”
Is it really bad to be like that?
“For you? Yes.”
“You struggle to lift your arms, and you always want to. You’re like a broken bird that will never know the freedom of the sky again.”
I still have my wings, though.
“Don’t you want to use them?”
They can’t bring me the happiness I want. And I don’t think they ever could.
“Humanity learned to crawl before they could walk. Your voice is quiet, and you are shy, but have faith in yourself. Believe in the power of your wings.”
You speak of wings and voices, but in reality I have neither.
“Then believe in the humanity within yourself.”
What strength could possibly lay in my mortality?
“Man once dreamed of flight. Instead of lamenting over wingless backs, they created wings that they could pilot.”
I am neither a genius nor as intelligent.
“You do not have to be either to craft something beautiful. Flight was not achieved by one person alone. The road to the beautiful dream was paved first with nightmares.”
If they had given up, the road would have been completed without them anyways.
“The dream was collective. Had they not tried so hard, then the people before them would not have been inspired. Your dream is the same as theirs.”
I don’t dream of flight or piloting.
“You dare to inspire dreams and hopes.”
They are but dying flames against a savage wind to me.
“Stand fast, the mountains shall protect them.”
Mountains cannot gain inches toward such small flames.
“They were never alone. The trees, the hills, even the animals; they too protect the flames.”
Then they risk burning them all.
“They will not.”
How do you know?
“If the fires grow arrogant, the lamenting rains shall cool them down.”
Why must balance be struck so harshly?
“Is it? A harsh change of balance would undoubtedly call for a likewise reaction.”
Whether my flames grow or I spread by wings to fly, will I not be victim to my own arrogant eventually?
“The spirit of prudence guides you too well.”
It has saved me from myself many times.
“But it has also caged you, tied you, muted you, for just as many.”
What do you ask of me?
“Trust in your mortality. Imperfection is beautiful, for you are not limited to anything.”
Then what does?
“Release yourself. Destroy your bindings. If you cannot, if prudence heavily guides you so, then pay your trappings no mind. Even if they were to draw blood from immense struggle, show them that failure is not absolute.”
But what if it is?
“The dreams and hopes you chase will tell it otherwise, every time.”
Do not fools only dream? One must work, even if the dream bears no fruit within their lifetime.
“That is the beauty of imperfection. Everything you make shall not glitter like gold, but you must shine first with yourself before polishing your wares.”
I am made of nothing but scraps deemed worthless. What you ask of me is impossible.
“It is not. With careful guidance, even broken pieces can fit together, no matter their shape.”
“Shine yourself first. It is alright to hope and fail. No matter what anyone says, imperfection is beautiful. Diversity does not divide. They are simply colors of an endless palette.”
… I will try. Thank you.