Caged

Oh look, the sun has risen. Again. It's a beautiful day, it seems, blue sky, some clouds, the cool breeze of the wind, and the whistling of the trees. People are going on about their day, I can see. Some are happy; some seem excited, and some are stressed, afraid, or hurting. Some are late, and some are early. But who cares, right? I'm perfectly on time. I look around me and realize I'm caged. Yes, it's me, a bird. These steel bars and this little space inside it are my whole world. Now I look at those people again. They seemed free a moment ago, but now I wonder if they're as caged as me. not physically, but in their minds. The cage of their responsibilities, their problems, and their fate. Who is freer, I wonder? Me, who is physically imprisoned and has no responsibilities or worries, or them, who are free to roam, masters of their own decisions but imprisoned by their own minds.

You might ask whether I hate them. Honestly speaking, I don't know. They are the ones who caged me and put me in this little box for their amusement and some money. Not just me, but thousands of others. Not all are as lucky as me, so I'm grateful. But grateful to whom? about what? about not killing me? for feeding me twice a day? for trying to understand me?

Oh hey, my human just woke up. I don't think he knows what day it is. He seemed pretty wasted last night. *chirp**chirp*

No, I wasn't singing. I was just reminding him that he is still alive and that I am too, both alive and hungry. He forgot to feed me last night. He seemed sad even though he was drunk, so I let him sleep. I think he loves me, but I'm not sure. If he truly loved me, he would have set me free. But he smiles every time he sees me. Or seeing me makes him smile. I'm not so sure. But I'm pretty sure he is stupid. But no matter how hurt he is, how angry, how excited, he always smiles. Always. He is, as all humans are. Kind yet ruthless. Loving yet hateful.

For as long as I've been with him, I've seen his ups and downs. I've seen both his bright side and his darkest side. He isn't perfect, but no one is, right? not even me. But he is perfect for who he is. He tries. He tries to talk to me. Makes strange faces and strange noises, tries to feel what I feel, tries to know what I want, oh, so desperately. But deep down, he knows what I want. to be free. But it's buried somewhere in his love for me. He thinks I'm happy with him. I am. He loves me, and I love him too.

But even though I love him, I love my freedom more. My right to live how I was supposed to live. To fly away somewhere mindlessly, travel around the world, love somebody, even start a family. Sometimes, when he is sleeping, I have dark thoughts. I imagine hurting him for making me his prisoner. for not setting me free even though he can. for making me his pet. for calling me names that I hate. for making me go to sleep hungry. for making me seem pathetic. lonely. I imagine ways to hurt him, making every minute count, while I have fun. even killing him. But then he wakes up, looks at me, and smiles from his heart, and I melt away. All those thoughts disappear, and I even feel guilty. I hate him, but I love him too.

I see my friends flying around, pitting at me. I can see it in their eyes. They feel sorry for me. They probably wonder about my luck, my wasted years. When they look at me, they see a little bird, held against its will in a cage, looking at the same curve over and over, doing the same things as yesterday, or the day before, or before that. But I feel sorry for them too. Never knowing what's going to happen, wondering if they are going to be someone's meal, wondering if their loved ones are alright, wondering if they'll find something to eat, somewhere to rest. I don't have to worry about any of that. I even have my own pillow with my face on it. My human made it for me. I love my pillow so much.

The couple in the front building seems to be fighting. The bachelor next to their room is stressed. The smoking old lady by the windows seems cool, she even waves at me. I think her husband died last year. The kids are playing in the street. Ugh, I hate them. Someone next door is cooking. Oh, that smell, makes me even more hungry. Where is my human? I need my food.

My life is not that bad, right? except that being caged part. I watch people, and things, all day, with no worries of my own. I get to judge people. I am part of everyone's life around me. I have someone who loves me, someone who cares, provides for me, gets sad when I get sick, and smiles when I talk to him.  I don't have to worry about being eaten alive, shivering in the cold, or finding shelter in the rain when the wind blows my home away. I think this is exactly why he doesn't let me go, even though it crosses his mind. He believes that I am safer here than anywhere else. But I'll take my chances at living my life my way. Flying with the wind, against the wind, fighting, loving, caring, feeling scared about what tomorrow will bring, wondering how I'll ensure my survival. I don't just want to survive, I want to live. Maybe I will someday. Oh, I see the food in his hands. Finally, oh, look at this delicious black little thing. Oooh, sweet. Wait, what was I saying? meh. nom nom nom nom...