We were needed by each other, not under the shining sun but in the shadows of rain, while others bloomed in light, we waited beneath the storm. My soul is not the cleanest, yet still, it gave yours its glow. I offered you shards of a broken world, smudged dreams, blurred realities. I thought you could mend them, piece by fragile piece. Now I am a bird fallen mid-flight, unable to return to her nest, unable to find her flock, hidden behind gray clouds of thought. You once said a bird must fly, that without freedom, she is nothing but a ball of emotions with wings of shattered ideals. But tell me, is that how you see me now? A bird without nest, without flock, without purpose? My place is not inside your cage. My wings need to stay whole, not chained, not bent, not forced. Do you hear yourself? You want the notes of my song as if they belong to you. I cannot promise to return. With broken wings, I must follow the wind. So go on then aim your gun at me. No need to strike my wings; just pull the trigger. Watch the lead tear through my bones, pierce my flesh. Hide yourself well in the bush so the bullet hurts less, for I will not know who sends it. And before I collapse to the earth, before my eyes close, answer me one thing. Was it worth to steal my freedom away?