21

Whole.
To feel whole, is it not the greatest desire?
To feel the security, the safety, so often found in another’s arms, a favourite song, a warm coffee cup.Or the sense of whole, found in freedom.

I used to own a golden cage, that could fit within my palm.
It hung from a golden chain, and swung from my ceiling; the moon's light lining it's rounded form.
I used to lie in bed, and watch it swing back and forth; a little blue bird trapped inside, rocking gently on it's perch.
I adored it.
I would lie awake, my hands wrapped in white sheets, my neck wrapped in curls of hair, my legs curved up against my body, and I would just watch, as light seeped through it's cracks, and lined the blue birds back.
One day, I took the cage from my ceiling, and placed it in my pocket.
As I walked, my fingers fumbled against the metal each time they grazed my leg, each time the cage shook, and the bird hit metal bars.
The cages form started to grow warped, as the metal ridges began to bend, and I watched the bird become encased.
No longer able to swing back and forth upon it's perch, but now frozen in place, the bird's beak pressed up against it's trap, until, as the cage twisted and pulled; it finally snapped apart, setting the blue bird free.
It's home was now torn, it's protector, and savior now parted, as it swung, back and forth upon it's golden perch.It's head facing the sun, it's wings enclosed by no thing, restricted by no bar, held in by no cage.

And so now the golden cage hangs from my ceiling, it's doors parted, as sunlight encases a free blue bird's form.