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2003-03-07 | Baraband


I love birds. But there's one bird I don't think I could ever keep. It's beautiful, good-natured, very tameable, and can grow up to 40cms from head to tail. I love it. But I hate it.

It's called a baraband.

Every time I see one, it brings back memories. And not the most pleasent either.

Memories of being kissed and touched where nobody had ever touched or kissed before. Crying and pleading for him to stop.

"You're my special girl" "I loves you"

Wanting to die. And then the shame after, when He left me. Trying to clean myself up, while Barry, his barraband, chirped to me softly, unsure of what was going on.

Every time I see a baraband, my mind drifts back to poor Barry, shut away in his little cage, and his sweet little song. The way he'd sing to me after when I'd curl up on the floor of his shed, crying.

And every time I'd fall into the same trap.

Barry was wild. He asked me to tame him.

"Dere i helpu fi gyda Barry bach"

Welsh, meaning "come to help me with Barry little (one)"

My parents would make me go and help.

"Go! Don't be such a sourpuss"

At times like that I just wanted to scream at them. Not to let me go. Please, don't let Him do it again.

I didn't though. Brought up to respect my elders, love my family and to keep my mouth shut. And that's what I did. Nobody but Barry ever knew my secret.

That's why I can't have one.

Image taken from www.papugi.pl/naszepap.html

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