All she wanted to do was run away- actually, the specific desire was to put as many miles as possible between her old home and her new one, never to bridge the gap. I didn’t let her do that.

“You can’t make me talk to him,” she insisted one such night with daggers in her eyes. Cue finger quotes. “This can’t be fixed.”

“But you don’t have to suffer indefinitely for that,” I reminded her.

“Exactly. That’s why I’m getting out.”

“Let me tell you about yourself. You’re impatient.”

“I am not. I’m really not.”

“You are. And you’re a runner- flight instincts on full blast.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m a fighter.”

“I’ve seen your fight, and you have a lot left in you. But, still- you’re an eagle, not a lion.”

“I don’t disagree with that,” she replies after a pause.

“My eagle then.” A rather excellent metaphor if I do say so myself.

“You want me to stay in the nest then?”

I didn’t want to see my patient give up. She came to me for a reason; and that meant I couldn’t let her give up.

Thanks for reading this short story; please check out a few other pieces today:

And many more recently published poems.

…BRD…

I write poetry, prose, and personal pieces. All images are mine unless indicated otherwise. Feel free to leave feedback on my work anytime; I hope you enjoy.

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