[Slow-paced, not a wish-fulfillment story / female-centered / online romance / dog training / self-redemption / romantic rivalry]
The best way to destroy a bird is to say it is singing, whether it is suffering or happy.
Those who love it stand beneath the tree and listen. When it calls, they smile. When it falls silent, they wait.
When it calls, they love it even more.
Then, one day, it stops calling.
Its beak is open and its throat is moving, as if it is doing something it has done before.
The people beneath the tree say, “Why has it stopped singing? It used to sing so well. It really sounded like the real thing.”
They see it still flapping its wings, still opening its beak.
It is still moving, so it must still be singing.
No one asks what it is singing. No one asks who it is singing for. No one asks whether it wants to use a different voice, or stop singing altogether.
It stops singing.
They wait a while, then leave, saying there are other birds singing somewhere else.
But it has not stopped. Its beak keeps moving, its throat keeps moving.
It is just that the people beneath the tree can no longer hear it.
Eventually, it learns a phrase. It says it to the wall, to the window, to the cloud of white breath it exhales into the night.
Can you hear me?
Can you hear me?
Can you hear me?
The tree turns green again. It shakes its wings and tries flying.
Its beak opens.
This time, it wants to ask first.
Can you hear me?
