My yellow bird, Pecker, used to call to the crows. I never knew why, but she had always responded to them with her own call. When the crows cawed, perched at the tip of our cypress trees, she sang back from the house. But no longer does she call. Now, she sits on her cage quietly and only listens, listening as the crows fly overhead. 

The reason for her cries—I can only ever speculate about. Perhaps before we got her she had befriended the crows from her past neighborhood. But that possibility pains me; if that is the case, she calls to what she had believed are her friends, only to be ghosted over and over again until she no longer tries. Seeing a blind bird lose her hope and coming to realize her surroundings… It is one source of sadness in my life. 

Seeing dreams fade away like mine—it happens slowly but inevitably. Watching our deepest desires become unreachable, and finally coming to accept it… we are killed in a sense. We will never have the life we’ve truly wanted. We must accept that too—however I have yet to do so. Reality drags me along painfully, slowly draining me and my hope until the day I let go completely. One day, I will yearn no longer; Instead I would have forgotten.

This is the end of 11th Grade.