every morning
a little red bird taps on my window
thinking she can fly through the clear glass

every afternoon
the little red bird hurts herself
because the glass continues to deceive her

every evening
the little red bird forgets her past mistakes
and continues to throw herself at something cold and unfeeling

i was the little red bird
innocent, naive, and forgiving

and you were the window
seemingly open and transparent

but only able to give me
pain.