hera

We sat, slow motion, faces turned towards one another in big overstuffed leather couches, tears ran down her face, honoring intimate details of her kindred life. Reading years of solidified actions, thoughts, and dreams across her brow. Feeling changed, dynamic, moving forward like an ameoba emerged within liquid's containment, slowly crystallizing into something more pure, less jaded...reaching for the authenticity that holds us together at the seams preventing an outpour of plastic nothingness and meaningless social motions.
A bird circled overhead, confined and trapped within the walls of the large stucco building, frantically searching for the way out admist the funhouse of mirrors and towers of books and prayers of the people below. BAM. Hitting the windows hard, falling for the illusion of freedom beyond the relentless barrier of glass, that is not even considered a solid, yet stinging and punishing to the point of oblivion, withholding the certainty that beyond lies the world of trees, rivers, sky and....love?
The man on the ledge with the broom and crate hoping to save the bird from it's folly and overcoming his fear of heights finally gives up and climbs down to say "It will just continue to fly back and forth, it's following it's flight patterns... it will just continue to fly"