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For the first time in what felt like forever, I disobeyed.
I disobeyed my father, and I didn’t fly.
Because what good was this escape, this supposed freedom,
When I didn’t have a purpose?
I’m may be stuck inside this tower, but I know my purpose, as of now, is to be a prisoner.
And I have the freedom, now, to decide what my wings will look like, out there, I have a feeling I won’t.
So, I didn’t fly. I waited, because one day, I would grow my own wings and when I did. I would fly higher than anyone.
because without wings, how was I to fly?
And unlike my father I wouldn’t fall. No, I would never forget or lose my purpose, once I have found it, I am sure of that.
My father fell, because he forgot his purpose. He forgot that craftsmanship wasn’t really his purpose.
My father forgot his purpose and that destroyed him so much so that he would’ve rather fallen.
I have a feeling guilt helped anchor him back down as well.
The guilt of everything he had said and done.
I had never found a my wings as my father had, but at one point I thought I had.
(But it since I never truly find it, I didn’t forget or lose it, still true to my word)
I once thought that exploration might have been by purpose, just as my father had understood craftsmanship to be his.
Up until the very moment my father fell, I still had an inkling of hope that it would still stand to be my purpose.
I was wrong.
I must be wrong.
I must have a purpose.
I must grow my own wings.
My own purpose.
I must.
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I waited and waited, and waited.
Eventually, waiting drove me crazy.
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Too late I realized that my wings never grew because I never let them.
At that point, it didn’t even matter, because I had already gone quite crazy waiting.
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