“i don’t know where i’m going…but i’m not coming back here.” you blurted out, loud enough so we all could hear, unafraid and unapologetic.
i was upset at first, but then i was suddenly glad. you were always bigger then this place. i had to be happy for you. you saw that big something out there, and you were the first to notice the freighting rate at which this town was drying up.
so, go then, there are other worlds then these. these dried up ghost towns hold nothing but rotting piles of memories, discarded beer cans and the few of us left behind.
i drown that part of me that wants to clamp down and hold you tight before you notice the cage door shutting. i know you are not a pet to be kept, but the sight of your bright colors is enough to make me miss your song and drunkenly beg you to stay.
fly away little birdie. you were always bigger then this town, bigger then this skeleton crew of drunk could have been somebodies who always remember way back whens, when things were better. when we didn’t have to choose sides and decide if we were staying or going. fly away and leave us with the memory of what you were to us. you can be the star of the stories told over and over, laughing, choking, dripping red, wiping our eyes and telling of the times we were lucky enough to be there. you were always bigger than us, and we all knew this day would come.