On stray thoughts

The inability to see beyond ourselves eventually becomes a prison. A cage we cannot escape from but only observe through. And we sing, birds as we are, of the wish to fly, unable to understand that flight and freedom presuppose an eloquence of thought and a lightness of wings.

Desire has nothing to do with it. It serves no purpose. It fills no void. It only deepens the well we hide within and fills it with poison.

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