All three are crying

I stood in a darkened stairwell tonight. Listening to a man cry. The woman that he loves can not love him back. In the darkness his whimpers echoed loneliness. Light from the stars and the city shone in through the open hall and a light from an upstairs window cast gentle light etching the shape of the stair. She can not love him because she is promised to another, yet he had cried over her today too. The other. Two men love a woman. Two men love this woman and they both cry; one because he can’t have her and the other because another man loves her. Now the night has come, settled to roost, shaken it’s feathers, commenced its cooing and has tucked a head under wing. With the night and the end of this day now she cries too. The women loved by two men, cries for the tears spilt on her behalf. Fearing that she is a bad woman, a bad girl, she washes her feet in darkness and climbs into a lonely bed. They say you sleep in the bed you make… but this bed has been made for her; made for her by her family, her town, and her country. This bed made for her, is now made for one, because each of the men that loves this woman sleep alone. All three are crying.