Birds

If the sky at dawn could speak the language of my tongue, what would it say? Perhaps it is trying to speak through the echoes of the birds on the thatched roofs still hidden in shadows. I traverse this road often, yet it is a different world. I hear my breath, the sound of my shoes clicking with every step; I hear more birds in the distance. It sounds like a collective proclamation of “I escaped!” It sounds like they didn’t want to, but they did. They did. I did.

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