Unusual
Something unusual would always happen when we met
an old friend who we hadn’t seen for a while. He’d shake
our hand and ask of our well-being as it was something
important and we tried to hide behind unspoken words,
relating our loneliness, news we always kept to ourselves.
After all what could one say to an old friend to make him
feel concerned? Our everyday things, our routine, the job,
the wages never which were never enough for the necessities
and always the traitor behind the shadow the door? For
this we always cried behind the wall or alone under
the bed-sheets unless we could hear the sparrows, our
forever hungry friends.
I like those who prefer a few virtues. One is better
than two when one has more means to uphold destiny.

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