I never make a fuss. Such a quiet child. No demands. I can be whatever you like. But watch out: for all my sweetness demands a devouring. One day I may swallow this house, but right before I do I will speak all of the things that I never said.
Once we loved. Then, we parted. My wings became arms again. I speak now and seldom sing. But some things can never be as before. I pay attention now to different things I hear the tiniest insect move beneath the ground. Small hopes keep me alive like the way leaves still sometimes grow from the stumps of trees.