Yesterday evening, I stepped out of the house to find that one among the dozen-ish birds perched upon the pole wires above had decided to leave its legacy on the ass of my car.

I looked up at the bunch of stupid flying things, cursing whichever one had released its large, unholy splatter of white and purple.

All these damn birds had wings that enabled them to fly above the rest of the world, to see the lands from a perspective those without wings could not,
yet it was here, of all places, that they had chosen to seat themselves.


"But what right did I have to mutter indecencies at them?", I ask myself now.

I wonder: are the trivial things we forget forgotten over time, or all of an unnoticed sudden?

When despair at last floods your heart,
you will fall to your knees and look to the heavens with tears in your eyes,
screaming in voiceless agony, "What have I done to deserve this?"

and the voice that you've always prayed would respond to your sorrow
will still prefer to remain silent.