I keep two birds locked in a golden cage, atop the kitchen counter in a dusty, musty house. The paint is peeling, the floorboards are gone, blood streaks the walls, and the two birds stare at me from the confines of their golden cage.
“I think we should break up” I said.
“Go to sleep dear” she replied, before locking me in my cage and walking away.
For years I dreamt desperately, passionately of escape. Had it always been as simple as just walking out the front door?