Made of Stone.

You are so dark in your appearance. Walking under occasional street lamps, unaware of the throbbing traffic. Sitting under a tree in the shadow cast by night + this building I see you spontaneously. Hey - calling out - I sense a hesitation in your body. I see the way that you just want to keep walking, pretending the world simply does not exist. You are a broken man, reeking of booze and escapism. I am exited at seeing you. Dizzy with this coincidence. I was mere moments from your house, and this - a sign? But your weary eyes tell a different story. Sparrow chest with venerable bones + frail might. You tell of words, harsh + accusatory. Thrown at you. + you laugh it off telling me it's sad that you don't care more. I feel myself reel with this knowledge. At your callousness. I feel a wall rise and my attitude toward you becomes patronizing. I care not to hear of your exploits. I care not to hear of your arrogant ways. My heart softly flutters and tells me - escape, you have been down this very road before. a different broken man. A different set of hands, eyes, teeth. Both arm themselves with humour to get inside. Both will require more care than I have to give. I am full of love, but these types, you - your type, you are draining and will suck the very fucking life from me. This old owl and you, small fragile sparrow, will not rest easy as companions. This old owl, knows the heart that beats inside your concave chest, beats with a weight which she can not carry, let alone love.