was and was

It was a small bird, without a lung, my confusion was that it breathes on pain, or that it subsists on love, roaming the streets as if looking for a tree that does not contain nests for his friends, and contains only one branch on which only a small bird can lean on, it was with one wing, But he was able to fly and hover among the rosy clouds, he loved the trees walled with jasmine, he shrieked and shriveled so as not to see, he hated migration with the flock, he hated crowds.

It was all out.
He loved loneliness because he was sure they were leaving.
His friend was a miserable crow, sharing winter and autumn like rolls of discarded cigarettes and leaving spring scorched.

was and was..