Are we grateful for our bubble?
The constant flow of comfort? The solidified love? The cushiony warmth of meaningful kisses? The lack of peril? The apparent feeling?
No. We lust after more agency.
We dart for the furthest ends of the edge. And when we fall off with a weak ‘pop’
We crave out beginnings in that gooey bubble.
Lacking in the nest’s feathers we don’t have the means to craft wings to fly us home.
In an attempt to cry out, lacking in belonging we are too far gone to even find our voice.