Letter Six – The Red Parrot
It's said that parrots can feel love toward humans, just as any human would. Male parrots grow protective of their female owners—and female parrots, the opposite.You were fond of them. You once had one of your own, but she perished.
The day we were at the zoo, you lit up when we reached the parrot enclosure.
"Let's see my friends," you said.
Years later, I came across a small, framed painting of a red parrot—and I brought it home.
Parrots grow melancholic when they're lonely. Some even fall into depression. They feel everything a human can feel: love, ache, happiness, loneliness.
I don't know what kind of parrot you once had, but the red parrot in the painting caught my eye, for reasons I didn't fully understand. I placed it by the window.
When I looked out, I saw the red against the blue sky, or the gloomy sky, or the darkness.
Maybe, in this small way, I could hold a piece of your world.
I loved how you looked into my eyes, how you said it felt good just to hold me. When I looked at you, I saw your dark eyes, brows, and hair.
Your eyes were like a starry night sky—dark but warm, deep but bright. When you smiled, your eyes smiled too. And I would fall into that night sky, as if I were falling into a deep lake.
The day you left, I called and texted—no response.
A few days later, I sent you an email. You replied—brief, polite, and distant. As your emails always were.
And then—nothing. I wrote again.
But that time, not even a short reply came.
Note: This is a work of pure fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
