There are many kinds of love. Sweet, sticky, each has its own thing, and occasionally meets each other.
But what I want seems to be none of them.
I want someone who only has eyes for me. He can't do it without me. If I leave him, he will go crazy. Saying this kind of thing scares everyone away, so I never say it. Just paragraph after paragraph, playing the role of the one who turns around first.
Until I met a crow in the park.
Not gregarious, not close to others, falling alone on a branch on the edge of the group. Mysterious, aloof, like he doesn't need anyone. The way he looks at people is with scrutiny.
I had an idea.
Intent: About possession, loneliness, and belated understanding.