A fuzzy baby bird shrieked from the sidewalk, and I had to stop. Sometimes, we can only be heard if we scream. I talked to the bird— whispered my love—but she blinked those frantic dark eyes and screamed at me again. I unscrewed my water bottle and filled the cap with liquid; she cried as I placed the lid in front of her, head craned toward the clouds. We turn our heads to the sky and scream. There are no clouds to capture our request—only the sun, the demon jaw of fever.
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