Once upon a time there was a bird with a broken wing. He was a small bird, grey and quiet and alone. The bird sat shyly, looking out at each passerby with an impossibly blue eye full of sadness and longing. His sweet face wore an expression of heartbreaking hope and desperation, and you came to the bird with your heart open, offering him everything you had. The bird spoke to you in sweet notes and soft whispers and he told you a story that made you cry melancholy tears and your already open heart cracked wide apart so that it was pulsing and exposed and raw.
You sat there on the road keeping the little grey bird company while the weeds grew tall around you and the berries sprang forth on their thorned boughs. You told him your secrets and your desires and he chirped in agreeance and enthusiasm at your words. Little by little the bird grew strong while you fed him your thoughts, dreams and future.
After many days of golden afternoon light and stories told under indigo skies sprinkled with stars, you asked the bird if he was better, if he could fly. But the bird grew sad and he blinked his impossibly blue eye and told you he was damaged and needed you to stay. And so you remained by his side and you gave him more of yourself so that he would one day be able to fly. And the weeds tangled and went to seed and the autumn leaves fell all around and you sat by the little grey bird and kept him company until you were old and weak and all you had was the warmth the little bird offered.
And many days and nights later, I came along the road and I saw the little grey bird with the impossibly blue eye looking out at me with a face full of sweet sadness and he was all alone. So I sat down and told him my secrets while he healed by the side of the road...
and so the little grey bird sits, waiting for another person to fill him with their hopes and dreams while he tucks his impossibly blue eye underneath a perfect wing, on the side of a dusty and winding road.