What for bird am I?

Numbed wings – the sky is calling to me.
My wings ache and do not move with will.
I see you fly away, and a red thread hangs from your leg.
Emptiness – hot and cold, I decide.
I stay here and saddle the possible. I settle in it.
The unknown darkness embraces me and, like every night, it tingles.
I think of you and our thread.
I illuminate a winged future with my thoughts.
Without numb wings.
My blood is triggered and painfully fills the lifeless muscles.
I straighten my feathers and thump into the waterfall.
He sways me like a swing through lowlands and heights.
I taste sweet blueberries, and the days
and nights change.
Sometimes my thread is stretched,
and I know that your thought flies towards me.
Waving my wings, I freeze.
Who would have known that a sparrow from height is lagging?
There is time and I will learn.
I jump lightly and I will fly so lightly.
Without numb wings.
They are the only ones holding me back.
And they are numbed not by fatigue, but by fear.
Am I a sparrow? I don’t look like that.
I’m bigger and more colorful. What kind of bird am I?
A tit, a swallow, or something unknown?
I have no mirror, and something bright is watching me from the clear stream.
Just like you.
But it’s not you – different patterns adorn us.
I will fill the heavens with my beauty.
Before I pour into yours.
These numb wings will not bother me:
with perseverance and stubbornness, with a clenched beak,
I will move them.
When it stops hurting, I’ll know:
I can fly and everything is in endlessness.