phoebelikeyeah
Mostly, I think that my home was like a nest. It's strange, I think, to say it like that. I mean, my mother is quite like a mother bird in the sense that in the end, she is forced to push you out of the nest so you can fly. And I think I'm that one small bird you find in a pile of feathers at the end of your drive way: I didn't make it after my mother pushed me out of the nest. But it's true and although it's sad, I must live with the fact that I am the sad, small bird, that ends up squashed by the tire of your old minivan.