Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
A child should be allowed to be a child, but Lena didn’t say it. Unaware of any goals or notions pushed upon the young demigod, she glanced over again, before swinging onto another portion of the stony path – listening to the ebb and flow of wind brushing and rushing along.
The final statement caught her a little, because the Caretaker was content with her lot in life – even if it had been tragic and dismantling at times. She still had a home. She still had a role. She still had pieces she wanted to fill, places she wanted to go, curiosity to enable her into cycles of movement and motion. The world was open, fresh, and new, in some portions. She couldn’t have her sister back, and she’d accepted it. Her voice took on a kind, but stern note, the arch of her brow remaining. “Who is to say I want my life to be different? That’s not up to you."
The final statement caught her a little, because the Caretaker was content with her lot in life – even if it had been tragic and dismantling at times. She still had a home. She still had a role. She still had pieces she wanted to fill, places she wanted to go, curiosity to enable her into cycles of movement and motion. The world was open, fresh, and new, in some portions. She couldn’t have her sister back, and she’d accepted it. Her voice took on a kind, but stern note, the arch of her brow remaining. “Who is to say I want my life to be different? That’s not up to you."
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
