I hold her up on my lap— I kiss her. I stroke her furry white head, those silver whiskers grazing my hands. How gentle grief can be, sometimes. Like a longing for rain. On a long summer night when you’re staring out of your window, watching a crow deepen into the night. I often wish I could disappear like that. Whoof.
Time feels like someone dropped a plough on my shoulders, & told me to run. I wish time felt like stones slipping through sand-slivers instead.
Grief is a stray cat that keeps loitering in & out of your house. Keep your door ajar. Always.
Like grief: a cat will teach you how to love. A cat teaches you how to love because she teaches you how to wait. Wait on the silk blue edges of your bed for some life to walk in. Mewing & mewing for milk. Wanting to be stroked.