I used to be your birdhouse. I could coax you out from your seat in the treetops from behind the camouflaging greens and watch you edge out shyly with the wind ruffling your blush feathers. You'd cling to me when the spring showers started falling and I could keep you safe and dry, I could always do that. I'd be there to hear your youthful songs, and I'd whisper back in a language just we knew and then I'd hug you goodbye and watch you step precariously from my perch, flapping in the wind, unsure, unaccustomed. and I'd be there for you the next day and the next because I thought you'd still need me. I never thought I'd see you, the point of a flying V soaring with your head held high, not even glancing down at my tired wooden walls and faded empty perch.