Birds hide to die

It is well known that birds prefer to hide to undertake this great journey. The animals injured by life decide to shelter their death.

Why, would you ask me? Out of shame, fear, pride? Or just in the name of love? Out of compassion? What feelings lead to ostracize oneself? To exile? Would you consider this a suicide?

Being a bird of the same plumage myself, I'll tell you about my experience.

"I'm suffocating! I’m dying!" whispered the soul, "…and I'm going to get revenge." Shouted the ego.

The mind gives up, the heart is no longer there, the body breaks, the psyche quits...

Once the soul leaves the party, abandon the ship all the others also pack up.

All those cowards flee! My saviors trying to keep me alive.

Once the soul enters Despair and they become one, Love takes refuge in the eye of the cyclone. This isn’t a battle Love feels like winning alone.

And, I know, that's where the vicious circle begins, the spiral that will lead me to the shroud.

I feel my strengths leaving me; my values are shaken by these trials of life.

My foundations and identity no longer exist, yet ego remains.

Everything that makes me who I am weaken... except the pains.

I feel little by little my soul leaving me, my essence fading.

It's like dementors are sucking all the joy out of me and then the whole life left in me. They are coming for the last kiss.

All this is reinforced by Silence. He invades me, obsessed me, captivates all my senses.

So, I squeeze his hand harder and harder, without being aware of it, mechanically. Hand in hand, he pulls me towards him, hugs me and insidiously penetrates me, each of my pores, each of my holes, each of my openings, my flaws, my weaknesses... He does not miss any entrance to reach me. My fortress is assailed. As a true settler, he conquers the places and appropriates them, fully invests them.

Lost in this long, silent night, I don't know who I am, why I am, or where I am.

Silence keeps me silent. Obviously, no one knows what I'm going through. I'm captive of his embrace. We're waltzing into his bubble.

All I know, all I see is Silence, his friend Emptiness... and their first cousin Death.

No one knows anything about what's going on in me because it's simpler, easier, less painful, less scary, less concrete, less tangible. It's an illusion. My death is just a nightmare, a detail, a statistic.

I keep the words to myself, the pain to me, the successive depressions for me because Silence has sewn my mouth. And I'm afraid that opening it would be too painful, even more painful than to endure this situation.

Pain stands above my head like a sword of Damocles.

At the end, I don’t know if it is Silence who hides my death or if I alone choose to hide myself out of ease, empathy for my loved ones...

Is it a voluntary choice or acceptance of the submission?

Am I the hero of my own story or the hostage of my pipe dream?