It's three in the morning.

Sparrow's heartbeat

I found myself doing it again,
Circling at a crossroad.
Undecided about my role to play.

What am I?
I ask often lately, mostly
Cost by my own contradicting factors.
I can see the roles,
their masks and costumes on a hotel bed.
While someone's knocking on my door.

I could be the loudest and the quietest.
I could be all but a man of ladies of the evening,
Or the one in full black sitting in a corner,
Sipping old Cuban.

I've made a friend out of an escort,
Texting me a menu,
trying to sell me a title.

I've made a stranger out of many I called brothers, lovers,
at the top of your call list.
In the middle of the night.

I've made a stranger out of myself,
Different nights,
Different stranger.

And he's always in the mirror.
Sometimes he grins as if there's a story to be told,
Before someone appears in the reflection.
Behind him,
Bedding his shoulder with
Another stranger's
Clueless thoughts.

Some other times,
He doesn't even look at me,
But I see him just fine.
I hope he sees me too.

I hope,
A sparrow could have a heart too.
And I hope she can hear her own,
Heartbeat.