it's played a lot between these walls, here in this apartment.
today i took the birdcage out onto the balcony. he (the canary) is placed away from me, out of harm. it's cold out there, but he will survive.
which is where my story breaks from this one, because i'm not about to lie on the bed and die. i too will survive. i'll write something of this. i'll continue to find metaphors in the songs around me that speak to me about me. or perhaps i'll continue to make my experiences into coherent narratives (i.e. fiction).
i was reminded today that it's not all about me. he flaps his wings, he shows signs of distress, and i remember that my actions affect him. so i must do the right thing, which is not the easy thing.
my want (the easy thing) tells me we should lie on the bed together. that we should suffocate each other with these nice feelings. but no.
so i turn to fiction, as here is a bed that we can lie in forever. we can lie. we can make stories out of our wants.
but in the meantime, this is what goodbye looks like:
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