What goodbyes are made of (Part 3)

            One time, I went to a zoo all alone.

            It was in Tokyo.

            I remember the date: 14^th of February.

            The zoo was huge and it was like being lost at sea. There were endless waves of happy people, with matching smiles and love-struck eyes. I understood what being a boat without an anchor must be like. Floating yet drifting away. But it was kind of nice to explore the zoo by myself. I felt more connected to the animals.

       Anyway, so, there I was, walking around the zoo and gawking at the animals. Suddenly, I locked eyes with this crane alone in his cage. He was staring at me skeptically. “Hey you! What cha looking at?” he seemed to say. He looked like one of those punk-rockers, the plumage on his head sticking out in all directions. The body was white but the lower part just above his legs and the tip of his tail were as black as the night sky. He was pretty badass. He narrowed his eyes and we had a silent staring contest for several minutes. Then he turned his back on me. I’m sure that if he could, he would have rolled his eyes, thrown his hands (if he had)  up in the air dramatically and grumbled, “Aint nobody got time for this.”

            He acted like he’s all tough and couldn’t care less. But I saw him stealing a look at me from the corner. I couldn’t help but smile a little. I decided I liked him more than other animals I met that day. He reminded me of someone I used to know.

            After that, I said my goodbye and left.

            But I hope he’s still there on my next visit.

           

            Sometimes, goodbyes are made of a tiny bit of hope.