Like a feather drifting in the breeze along the coast of life.
Some days blissfully floating along the gentle breezes.
Other days, when the skies are black, the waters blacker topped with churning white caps; the feather is swept along, thrown against the rocks, soaked by the dark waters. Drowning, suffocating. Broken. Left lying still as death on the sands of time. Giving up is the light at the end of the tunnel, and death itself, all in one.
Without the winds to carry the feather, there is no point to go on.
Sunny days with gentle breezes lift the broken feather back into the air to fly again..... those days are getting shorter and shorter. Further apart, the feather doesn't dry and heal fully before the next storm.
How much more can I take before I fail to rise again?
Does the wind even care I'm no longer able to rise on my own?
Do I matter to anyone?
I'm broken and no one cares. Unable to reach out, though that doesn't matter anyways... The one I need to survive doesn't need me... nor seems to want me.
I know I'm not strong enough to be the one everyone needs.
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