Winged insects carrying pollen, spreading rumors from flower to flower. You must be extremely careful when speaking of the fairies. I lean out the window over the flowers and sigh, “The fairies are mischievous, and can even have evil intentions.” Silly imaginings in my heart. And yes. I am made of the same materials as are dreams. Always asleep, I am really just a plain girl. Now those are not the words of the birds. When the boy jumped down, I remembered that all the birds had flown away. One girl I do not recognize looks over this way, her eyes wide like saucers. She’s like a rose-colored fairy, this oft-rumored young lady. I didn’t know it at the time, but now I finally understand. All living things had been avoiding him. Lizards are ancestors to birds, they say, but I am an insect. And you. It’s all because you leave the windows open all the time that there were many little boys sleeping on my bed.