But ain't that just the point?

It was that sort of sleep in which you wake every hour and think to yourself that you have not been sleeping at all; you can remember dreams that are like reflections, daytime thinking slightly warped.

— Kim Stanley Robinson, Icehenge.

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Hilf mir, meine Augen zu schließen.

————

It was a special one —

that one tabby cat 

who stood out like a sore thumb

among the rest of the cats 

trying to find a place to call home.

Apart from its fur 

distinguishing it from the rest

and its given nickname

because of its colour,

it felt no different from the others.

But it was a special cat —

or at least that was what it chose to think.

Being placed with labels was not by choice,

but wanting to stand out 

was a personal vendetta.

Every one called it nasty names

and regarded it like any other stray cat

who couldn't find a place to belong.

Its mates from the litter had left

without a single meow,

leaving it alone to fend for itself.

None of them were wrong to do so.

They did a fantastic job at leaving

and leaving it defenseless.

It could not be put down further

or lower than where it was.

The only way was up —

or at least that was what it wanted to feel.

It was one special cat —

who had been there;

who had done all that;

and didn't want to go back.

Nobody needed to know how it felt

or what it went through

because it had made one big decision

to move out and move on.

No more fishing for happiness;

this cat no longer needed fish.

Happiness would soon find its way

right into the life of the tabby cat.

It had cleaned up its fur

and build for itself

a new place in the mind

called home.

————

Hilf mir am Leben zu bleiben.

————————

M.

You don't know.

How to let go.

Who said this must be all or nothing?

But I'm still caught below.

And I'll never let you know.

No, I can't tell you nothing.