You are not blind, not so as the rest of those in your world are. You are but trying to see through the glassy eyes born to you, the ones no warm breath could clear up. You are but a lost bird, wingtips clipped by the ignorance surrounding you, forcing yourself to fly in a broken sky.
Do not worry, little bird, for I will help you fly.
YOU ARE READING
Words From the Dead to the Living
Short StoryHow do the dead see the mortal world? (Companion to "Words From the Living to the Dead")
