You are my bird. When I was a child, and you were a fledgling, you came to me, and I loved you, and I held you dear. Eventually, I grew uncomfortable keeping you chained in a cage. I tried to let you go, because I felt I was holding on to something I had no right to hold at all, but you just got angry with me for trying to send you away. Your anger frightened me, and when I tossed you out the window, you refused to take flight, so you fell to the ground and you nearly died. I cried that day, because I thought I was trying to help us both, but I only hurt you, and that’s all I’ve ever done. I saw you often, flitting through the trees outside my window. Sometimes you’d try to come back inside, but I’d never let you close enough. I was terrified of letting you get close to me again, because we always seemed to hurt each other, and we could never talk about it. You still sang to me sometimes. A year or two passed, and I got lonely. I called you back, but I found you were singing to somebody else, and I reckoned I’d lost you forever. You came back to me still, and sat at my window for a little while. You’d chirp to me, and I’d ignore you. You’d sing, and I’d shut my ears. One day you stopped singing to me completely. I still saw you around the city. You’d chirp to me as I walked past, and I’d nod. We’d exchange polite conversation, as if walking on glass, trying not to offend the other, but we saw less of each other. I found I missed you when I didn't get to see you anymore,and your consistent chirping, which I'd always found insufferable, became a beautiful song. We grew to talk more, and I began to feel an urge to hold you close again. One day, I let you near me, and you perched yourself faithfully in my hands. I held you briefly. I wished I could have held you forever, but I had to let you go. I released your wings, and you fluttered away. I’m still hoping for the day when you’ll come back to my window. I’m still waiting to see if your promises were true: You’d always come back to me whenever I really needed you. It’s only been a few days since I last held you, and I’m not sure how long I’ll have to wait for you, or if you’ll even bother with me anymore. I pray every day that you’ll find some insane reason to come back to me. Until then, I’m waiting here for you. I'll write my letters and compose my songs, and I'll think of every question I forgot to ask you, just in case I get a second chance. I'll lie in wait for your return, because no matter whom you sing for, and no matter how far away you fly, to me you’ll always be my bird.