The bird flew toward the setting sun just in time. It settled on a now cool branch that bent like a chair. It pecked once at the bark, casual, like it belonged there.

Its blue feathers were turning purple now, the light wrapping around its body until its head was buried in a deep, throbbing violet. The glow from the sun caught the shimmer in its wings, and I couldn’t help but just stand there, watching. Staring, really.

I had to follow it. I have been doing that for the last two days. I’ve missed work. I haven’t seen anyone. I don’t even know what day it is, really. But I’ve kept up, somehow. And for moments like this, this one right now, it’s been worth it.

The way its black feet grip the branch. How long and clean the feathers are, trailing out behind its tail like a brushstroke. Oh God, it made me smile.

How lucky am I to see this? To witness it. I’ve never seen a bird like this in my life. It doesn’t feel real. Feels like a gift. A secret.

I took out my phone again, trying to get a photo. Just one good shot. But every time I do, it ruins it.

The pictures never come out right. It looks wrong. Grainy. Blurry. Almost like the bird isn’t even there. I swear it was beautiful, and the phone makes it look like trash. The anger bubbles in the depths of my belly.

Was this something only I’m meant to see?

The bird shifted. Its head tilted toward something I couldn’t see. Then it lifted off the branch like it had never touched it, wings outstretched, tail ribbons trailing behind like smoke.

I followed.

It didn’t move fast. It never did. It wanted to be watched. I know that. It flew low over the ground, weaving between trees, gliding just above the grass. I walked faster. Then ran. I wasn’t going to lose it.

Not after everything.

And then…

They came.

From every direction. Dozens of them. Birds, like mine, but not. Some were smaller. Duller. Some almost identical. They circled in strange, silent spirals, dipping and folding into each other like cloth caught in wind. My bird was in the middle of it all. I couldn’t tell which one it was. I couldn’t find it.

“Wait, wait!” I shouted.

I pushed through the field. The sound of wings filled my ears. Not beating, but rushing. Whirring. Like fabric being torn apart.

I raised my phone, snapping photos, desperate.

Nothing showed up. Just sky. Just blur. Just failure.

And then they were gone. All of them. Lifted and vanished into the orange sky like they’d never been there.

I stood alone.

I checked my phone again. One last photo. I tapped it open. Just a smear. An ugly, gray smear.

I dropped the phone.

I don’t know how long I sat there. The grass was wet. The sun was gone. Everything was gray.

I whispered to the sky. “Please.”

No answer. Just silence.

I cried. I didn’t even feel myself doing it. The tears just came. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just steady. Like a leaking pipe.

I miss it. I miss him. My bird.

He was mine.

He was mine