I told you it was because I was afraid of something so beautiful.
I told you you were beautiful. It makes me think you weren't listening
when all you do is remind me of broken things.
Their wings are a product of something I can't understand, and
something I can't have. I
take them away, so something will stand here with me
while I'm Earthbound.
The kite was a kite
and breaking it was not a symbol.
I couldn't hold onto the strings right and
I didn't lie to you about looking like a goddess. If
you had listened to me, maybe you would feel better now.
I got a new one,
maybe easier to handle
even if it blocked out more of the sky.
You say you're ocean-bound and watching shipwrecks, but
a bird's eye view sees more. And I tell myself
it's better for you to stay there, because if you're crying now
over what you can see there,
Even being where I want to be and flying cannot make up for
everything I cannot keep my eyes from.
And I ask myself, "Why does she stay stuck in the sea
if she can't stand it,
And why is it my fault for wanting to soar?"
I broke the sparrow's neck
and you were still weeping.
You tried to stop me, but you didn't listen to me when I told you truth
about flying, metaphorically
and for a bird.
I cannot make everything better. I cannot bring back the dead.
I cannot watch beauty broken and limping because it scares me
so the sparrow is dead
and I am gone.