No Nice Days

“Get some rest and we’ll have a nice day,” he said, not understanding how trapped I feel by the cocoon of illness I am only just beginning to emerge from. Unaware of how freely he moves through the world, like a butterfly flitting and fluttering from leaf to leaf on the breeze of a whim, …He doesn’t see that like the newly winged caterpillar struggling to break through the silken shell it has woven around itself, I too am chafing against my confines. …He doesn’t see that before I can trust my still fragile body, I must inch my way out of my old skin and slowly unfurl my wings. He doesn’t see that even though I am longing to be free, until I, too, can fly on the breeze of a whim there are no nice days.