Fear of Flying
It sits perched on a windowsill, flapping its wings, remembering flight in a previous life; the winds and that rushing sound filling the air, thrilling the heart. The flapping stunted, nervous, frantic. Each missed moment a reminder of past emotions, passions fizzled out, dried up; parched aching beating inside a hollow ribcage. There was beauty once, while all else seemed unworthy. The memory is clear, yet distant, like stale knowledge from forgotten books; an attic full of empty reminders, yellowed souvenirs from trips beyond recollection, etched with hidden scars. It sits with dried tears, waiting. Memento Mori.