we broke a bird's heart

The afternoon light burns the white concrete tiles and both my eyes.
I am watching a dying insect with a broken body and only a wing left fighting to pick itself up over and over again on a serving platter with a printed spanish bull. I don't know whether to admire its perseverance or not.
At last, it curls up and lays there, just a few centimetres away from a dead fly and a crumpled mosquito.
I wonder what it saw before it died. I wonder what it thought about.
Oh but it has me tricked, as all the successful people in the world have had me tricked because it moves again, ambitiously trying to force its way out of the cursed U shape its body has been bent into.
Death hovers over the serving plate and the printed spanish bull throws me a hard stare with a strange but harsh defensiveness, as if telling me to mind my own business or his horns will pierce my eyes.
Death has touched everything with its black fingers. Nothing can escape it.
Not even the dream I had as I awoke this morning.
I witnessed its death and when you witness things like that, you have to be alone.
Like the way you witness your own death in time to come. You have to be alone. (Nothing can escape it)
So I made another one and heard what I had wanted to hear.
Yet I awoke again in the afternoon feeling like I was about to break because it wouldn't leave my mind.
I've been turning to the superficial things for help but to no avail.
It really is of no surprise that my father's cigarette box is empty.
Although probably a sign from God that I will die if I get what I want, I do not need signs right now. Because I am proud, yes. Because I need instant relief from this agony, yes.
And all I can do and should do is wait. Then things will arrange themselves and make me whole again, right?
Or Wrong?

Like decisions.
Vicious decisions that could go both ways.
I wrote this 34 days ago. I was being more hard on myself than comtemplative:
"When he looks at you, he should look at you as if he wants you. And not in the way that he wants to sweep you off your feet kind of 'want'. He should need you just as much as you need him. Or maybe more. Want you more than you want him. Fall deeper than you fall for him. That is all. Then you know he's the one. It's in the eyes."
I wish I didn't have eyes.
"Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. So fond it eats me whole. This is a disease that has grown in me, that has caused my lungs to collapse and my eyes to close before the night comes. But I will not fight it. It is reality. It is an authority. Anyone who fights against reality loses, anyone who goes against authority fails far more miserably than he should. Call me a pessimist but You don't understand - it is a decision I have to make."
Vicious, I stand corrected.
"I never had to make any when you were around. I am dependent on you."
My downfall.

A hummingbird flutters about, searching for quiet corners to build its new home in. Does it not know that its home will be destroyed? People in this house are not known to have mercy. Not even me.
Like the way two blue eggs were stolen from a nest and put in the container with the quails' this new year. That surely broke a bird's heart.
The afternoon light continues burning the grass patches mercilessly and rubbing their heat in the vines until they turn yellow.
Like how that one kiss burned and had me half opening my eyes, teetering on the edge of reality and fantasy. Why did I open my eyes?
How foolish it was of me to think I could have brought that into reality.
What stays in dreams, stays in dreams.
And what stays here, well, shatters our hopes and weighs.us.down.
Yet the subconscious mind does not lie.
That is what kills me.