I flap my butterfly wings furiously but all I do is crash into the pane of glass of the closed window. I see my future through the glass and spurred on by the vision I flap again and again. The sound of my wings rhythmically hitting the glass is a crazed drum beat. Exhausted, I finally stop and land hopelessly on my legs. I look up and see through the Parkinson's glass at the false sunshine outside; my heart sinks and without hope I beat my wings again...
When I saw a butterfly today insanely flapping its wings against the window and trying like a broken record to break free, I felt an empathy for its lack of adaptability and awareness. I opened the window and clumsily the butterfly flew outside.
But nothing can open the Parkinson's window for me...
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