nest.

there’s rust on the rim of the faucet, and the soft plink of water dripping from the tap into the porcelain sink wakes me up at night, a vile alarm clock. this house is too old for me, too full of history, and i’m too young for it. my sister is an old ghost haunting the bedroom, tapping her mallets on the xylophone to the timid melody of ‘twinkle twinkle little star’; the notes ring in my eardrums with a silvery buzz. when I hear her music I envision the moon.

this bed of sticks and straw isn’t comfortable anymore, branches snapping against my skin. I lean this way and that and settle in for a night of stargazing, but’s it’s time to fledge and I can’t avoid it much longer; the world calls. I throw my hairbrush at the wall and watch the handle snap in two; maybe it’s just teenage angst, but I don’t think I belong here. I want to run, to walk far away, dance past the statues of armor left over from the middle ages, shake their hands and wish them farewell. i want to leave this old nest behind. you never know, maybe there’s a land beyond the sunset.