Black Roses, Ugly Coffins and Homeless Birds

Prettier women get ugliest of coffins, you read out loud from the book you’ve been reading. I ask for facts to back it up and you say philosophy is made to question the facts.

You converted my balcony into a garden with black roses, some african violets and a lot of bonsai trees. You say thorns make the roses beautiful and nothing pretty comes without a clause. (I am sure this comes from one of those philosophy lessons as well.)

I imagine if you come with a clause too because you look absolutely beautiful talking to those birds which chirp in our hungover forest.
You say you’re a homeless bird and you have made my apartment your home. And a few homeless birds will make my balcony their home too.

A few nights after some violent fights, you didn’t turn up home. The next night as well. And a few more nights pass by.

You text me you’re a homeless but migratory bird. One more beep and the text now says you’re searching for a new home. I type and erase a few replies. But I let you search your skies for a new home.

There’s some dried blood on the rose petals. The charred texture looks awful. Indeed, beautiful things come with a clause. Like the roses. And you.
A few birds chirp constantly in the balcony nowadays. I guess they have found their home. Have you, migratory bird? And does it come with a balcony?

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