The clichéd love bird's eyes stare blankly at the seed on the floor.
"Why should I eat if there is no one to eat with?" It asks itself.
Muscles aching from the night before
When countless attempts to leave the cage were destroyed.

The bird has learned to love its care-taker
But longs forever to find another to fly with.
It has matured, although reluctant to admit it;
Once before it sought after beautiful feathers and conversation.
Now it knows that a true bird always yearns to simply fly,

To fly on its own.
And with another.
At the same time.
Each in their own style.

It waits impatiently to pursue with all its desire the one it is meant for.
It is just the small problem of knowing which bird to look upon.
"It is too big of a risk; to fly with a broken wing." It says.

The caged bird flutters to and fro,
Afraid of escaping the open door,
Afraid of the probable depressing flight home to the worn out cage,
Afraid of the thoughts so destructive,
Afraid of the cage.
Afraid of itself.
Afraid of