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To describe my cocoon is to describe a feeling of deep-rooted angst. My entire life I've always wanted to know what it is like to feel the wind beneath my wings, despite not having any. A lifelong dream of mine is finally becoming a reality. It's strange, however, how something I hoped for for so long seems so unfulfilling in the moment. We wait and we wait and we wait for the chrysalis of whatever it is we want to be to consume us, but whenever it does, we can't help but reflect upon older days. I can't seem to remember birth, but I do remember the first time I crawled. And from that point, I never stopped crawling. Until now. I'll never crawl again. I don't know how to feel about that. Yes, I'm excited, but I'm also scared and resentful at the same time. All I ever wanted to do for so long was fly, but now all I wish for is a few more moments with my legs. An hourglass tilted on its side, all I wish for is for time to hold still for a few moments. Is that okay?
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