Black Crow (1177)
They thought they knew me. Coming from here. It was small. B ut then we all thought we knew, didn’t we? What people were like. By how they looked. By how their house looked. The car they drove. 5 dollars in their pocket. Their thoughts made me feel even smaller. My thoughts. They were wrong, weren’t they? About me. Wasn’t there more than this. More. Wait, that was wrong. Who was I to say what was more, or less. Maybe it wasn’t less for them. I didn’t need more. I just needed something different. I was different. No, that was comforting. It was ok. If I thought I knew what they thought about me, then, maybe I was doing the same thing, to them, and I was wrong...oh boy... that’s messy. I laughed. I really needed to get over myself. And there it was...getting over. Getting through. It wasn’t they, (them?) who needed to know my story... it was me. I needed to live my dreams, my hopes, my story, my life. And allow them to figure out their own. We all had one. Have one. Get one. Change it. They’re stories after all, not stone. We can all fly with stories, not with stone. So that’s what I did. What I do. It’s not all figured out. It doesn’t have to be here. Here’s what I know. The place was small. Yes. But the dream was grand. Is grand. And we fly.