The trouble with baby birds…

I finally let go of my baby bird.

If you haven’t had one be grateful.
Be grateful you haven’t had the pleasure and privilege to hold and love something then be destroyed by having to let it go. 
Be grateful that your heart wasn’t fed like a hog and brought to the slaughter.
  If you’re reading this and you might think you’re my baby bird, I can almost assure that you are not. My baby bird knows who they are without a doubt. We live on the edge of each other’s lives; bouncing in and out.
A baby bird is someone (or something) that you love. Fiercely. Explicitly. Unconditionally. I only saw the places I plan on traveling to with my baby bird. Other than that, I only see myself in these places alone. Baby birds fuck you up. Because even though you’ve watched them grow ; even though you’ve imagined the rest of forever with them; There’s always the day that your baby bird will have to leave you. You know it’s time when you feel your baby bird struggling. Your baby bird will try to go. They will try to leave and sometimes they just aren’t ready. Sometimes you’re not ready. Sometimes when you feel like your baby bird even looks like they’re ready to fly away you squeeze slightly harder than you did before. But your baby bird always has to leave. Because they don’t belong to you. And you don’t belong to them. Loving your baby bird means that you have love them further than warmth of your palm. It has to expand past your fingertips. It’s not fair to be mad at your baby bird. Because they need to grow and that’s impossible within your fist. Send them love and peace and happiness every time you think of them. Smile.
Find your light. I love you. 
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