Nestlings

by Nat Cassidy

We don’t belong here.

“No more swears around the Bird.”

“I’m such a bummer. I bum myself out. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m embarrassed. I’m … scared. All the time. And I hate it.”

A garden of resentment was sown that day. Its hideous plants bloomed at irregular, unpredictable intervals. A sprig of hate. A blossom of blame. Entire teeming hedgerows of depression and alienation.

Adulthood was all about compromises, wasn’t it? You decide what you need, what you want, and shift your priorities around until you find the least bad combination. Each compromise was a link in a chain, and if that chain dragged you down to the bottom of the East River? Well … at least you had Netflix and Spotify to distract you while you sank.

the world becomes a different place after some sleep.