Well, the last of the kibble is finally gone, but of course the pigeon keeps on coming around to the fire escape every evening. As it hops around it actually seems to look expectantly for the window to open and a hand to toss out some kibble. I wonder how long it will take until the pigeon realizes that the gravy train has ended, that there will be no more evening snacks.
The pigeon is fat and glossy. It looks very healthy. I almost envy it for its apparent vigor and well-being. I do envy it for its wings, for its freedom to fly away as it needs to, finding more food, warmer skies, better fortune wherever it can. All I can do is sit here wishing Patrick were back here with me, himself fat and glossy and healthy again. I guess in a way I too keep on hanging around looking expectantly out into the Universe waiting for a magical window to open and a hand to reach out and return Patrick to me, happy and whole once more.
But our time together has ended, and no such magical window will open and grant me such a wish. But that doesn't stop me from gazing out into the Universe anyway.
At some point the pigeon will stop hanging around and expecting to get food. It will move on to find food elsewhere, and not be hungry. But even moving on with my own life I will not find Patrick elsewhere, no matter how far I look or how long I wait. He is gone forever, and I will always miss him.