When I am injured, I will fall down. But I will stand up again. That is what I tell them. There is no fear in my heart, nor is there any trace of doubt. I am simple. I am me.

What does it mean, to be me? Who am I? I am lost, yes. But I am strong. I have pride, but it does not go to my head. I am intelligent, but I do not speak of it. I must learn to hold my tongue. I cannot speak of the phantoms that haunt my mind.

It is the screaming that gives me away; the terror in my eyes. I do not mean to hear their voices. But they whisper to me, and I cannot lock them out. They truly speak to me at night; when the moon casts dancing shadows, and the stars sing softly.

I sing back to the stars, sometimes. The soft glowing orbs that hang in the sky are my most trusted friends. They have so many things to tell me. Much sweeter things than the phantoms.

I spent many years singing to the stars, hiding up in the trees, away from the phantoms. Now I am afraid I cannot get down. My hair has turned white, and it cascades down my shoulders. My skin remains as smooth and young as before. But I cannot get down. Wings adorn my back; soft, white wings that shimmer and send rainbows dancing in the air when there is moonlight. I am in awe with myself.

There is my pride, again. I cannot help but think myself as beautiful. I lift into the air, slowly. It is time to take my place amongst the stars.