How I Exist

Before I existed, I was a void. I was a blank white sheet of paper. I was a black hole. I was something missing in the world. Before I existed, there was space for me, just nothing filling it. There was a hollow willow tree beside a lake in Canada, covered in hard bark and leaves, disguising it, making it look as if there was nothing there. A small, yellow bird landed on the leaves, and began to dig, with its tiny little feet, into the tree. It broke through the hard surface on the outside, the bark crawling with darkness and bugs. The little yellow bird burrowed deep inside the tree, hid itself from sorrow, and nine months later, out came me. I was the product of laughter and sunshine, yellow from ear to ear, although you wouldn't know it just by looking. I had wings and learned to fly, slowly but surely, to the moon. I taught myself to eat, finding food in the sky, and I taught myself to sing. In the mornings, I would turn my face to the world and sing a song about the history of my mind. I couldn't yet speak language. I was still stuck speaking God. Every night I would return to the hollow emptiness inside of the willow tree, soothing myself to sleep. Eventually, after I could fly without falling, I made my way to a river that led me to the sea. On the white shores of Canada, cold and tired and lost, I found a family. They were sitting on the beach, watching the waves. They called to me, said they were waiting. Said they had been expecting me. They told me they had let let their bird go many years ago, I was expected much sooner. They had been waiting on the beach ever since. They took me home with them, smoothed out my feathers, washed my feet. They said they had been missing me, that there had been a void in their life that only a little yellow bird could fill. For three weeks we lived in happiness and peace. One day, exactly three weeks after the family had found me, they broke down. They threw plates against the walls and yelled out
and yelled out
that they didn't want a little bird anymore. They wanted a child and a family and to live apart from one another. They didn't make any sense to me. I tried to fly away but got stuck in the branches of a tree outside the window. They found me there, vulnerable and stranded. They took me back inside. They plucked out my feathers, broke off my wings, and turned me into a child. I was the product of yelling and moonlight. I was darkness from ear to ear, as you can easily see. I live and I still try to fly from time to time. I love flying. I miss the lakes of Canada.