They’re all gone. She’s left me. The birds have left me. All except that one. He’s perched on a pile of rubble, on the edge of a brick shard. I know how he feels.
Her kind, they always leave suddenly. They flutter off in search of the loudest tit with the biggest nest and leave me wondering.
I hate having to wonder. She might be back, she might not; but I have a right to know which it’s going to be. Don’t you think?
If I see her again, I’ll catch her. Pour the contents of my heart all over her face and see what she’s got to say then. She’ll break me, but at least I’ll know. And then, I’ll behave accordingly.