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“There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask "What if I fall?"
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?”
―
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask "What if I fall?"
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?”
―
“Because the birdsong might be pretty,
But it's not for you they sing,
And if you think my winter is too cold,
You don't deserve my spring.”
―
But it's not for you they sing,
And if you think my winter is too cold,
You don't deserve my spring.”
―
“There is a fable in the forest
Whispered by the branches, as they blow.
A tale about the truth of leaving
Things that no longer help you grow.
For on the surface it looks simple,
Like you only need lace your boots,
But there is nothing quite as painful
As untangling your roots.
And proof is found in tree stumps
Of the price some pay to flee,
That they would cut their lives in half
To cut the time before they're free.
Yet from the little left behind
Life has been known to grow again,
For unless you take your roots
A part of you will still remain.”
―
Whispered by the branches, as they blow.
A tale about the truth of leaving
Things that no longer help you grow.
For on the surface it looks simple,
Like you only need lace your boots,
But there is nothing quite as painful
As untangling your roots.
And proof is found in tree stumps
Of the price some pay to flee,
That they would cut their lives in half
To cut the time before they're free.
Yet from the little left behind
Life has been known to grow again,
For unless you take your roots
A part of you will still remain.”
―
“The irony of life
Is our greatest fear is to forget,
Yet it's the only certain fate
That anything has ever met.
We know one day our earth
Will find itself victim to time,
That nothing will be left
To tell of your story or mine,
And still through life we rush
Scrambling for something to remember,
Perish the thought that ash be ash
And not the memory of an ember.”
―
Is our greatest fear is to forget,
Yet it's the only certain fate
That anything has ever met.
We know one day our earth
Will find itself victim to time,
That nothing will be left
To tell of your story or mine,
And still through life we rush
Scrambling for something to remember,
Perish the thought that ash be ash
And not the memory of an ember.”
―
Cait’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Cait’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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