Kensigton knows

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 Let's set the scene:

As the dark night ascended, she stood in the middle of nowhere with strings surrounding her.
All she is now, all she was, and all she could be.
Invisible hands are pushing her all around, but she remains in her place, taking the blows. Looking up to the sky.

Stars are turning, time is passing, and she feels everything she ever knew about her existence on this planet is a lie.
They told her she was supposed to feel safe with her magic. They told her: to get to the sky and beyond, you have to learn spells and prevail in their wisdom. But the more she learns, the more she's been held down by this heavy, breathtaking, suffocating wisdom.
Still, she's looking up. It's been 2 years now that she started this journey, but she's not changing, she's slowly fading. What if she was never meant to reach the sky? What if the broom they handed her only flies when she surrenders her spells and follows the dark? 
She's barely breathing, she's already giving up her cloak, her half-moon spectacles, her hat keeps falling, and yet she keeps picking it up, convincing herself that her journey is yet to begin with another chapter. 
But, she keeps losing her stuff. And she needs a hand. Not a hand to push her, but a hand to hug her, carry her things, and build with her a bridge to take her up. 

She need kindness and empathy from her people. 

listen to this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBh-3ckB2Sk&list=RDzBh-3ckB2Sk&start_radio=1&pp=ygUQbm8gbWUga2Vuc2luZ3RvbqAHAQ%3D%3D

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