Yet the crow had no idea how much her admirers were in awe of the jet blackness of her feathers. How they longed to see her without the peacock’s feathers mismatchedly put on hers, sticking out like outsiders. If only the crow knew, how many were mesmerised by her uniform black feathers, she’d be flying, instead of parading the grounds trying to be something she wasn’t born as. If only she knew.
Never beg someone to stay
You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.
I’m tired… I’m so tired. I thought I just needed a night’s sleep, but it’s more than that.