Two years back, somewhere in the dusty alleys that run around Johnson Market, an egg hatched.
A little blue parakeet-ling stuck his head out and smiled at the world he was to share with the rest of God's funny imagination. I'm sure as hell that as soon as he broke out of his shell, he tipped it over and poked it with his nose, finally liking it enough to put his foot on it, holding it tight, like to say, 'Mine!'
My aunt picked him from a pet store in this bustling loud marketplace that brimmed with activity. She was looking for a little one. In a crowd of over ten little parakeets, she heard a tiny blue scantily feathered little chick yelp, pushing through the rest to chase a ball of hair.
She named him Max, and brought him home. Max was love at first sight for anyone who he met. He was playful, he was insane, and Max believed he was human.
A year back, Max was given to me to look after. I remember being extremely worried about my new responsibility and feeling very guilty everytime I stayed out leaving the blue wide eyed bird to stare alone into darkness the night through.
I decided to not love him. He was a bird. I mean.. not a dog.. not a cat.. a bird. And a micro tiny one at that. Max proved me wrong very soon.
One day, he sat on my head as I fed him. The next, he slept on my chest as I read.
Max did many things to show me it didn't matter if I didn't love him, because he did, regardless of whether I forgot to feed him, or change his water.
Max died today. I don't know how or why, but he was dead in his cage on his way to meet me after a long vacation I came back from.
I wish I could have him drink coffee from my mouth just another time. But I figure Max needed to go. He won't sleep on my chest again. And I'll miss that and him.