the cat wants to run out into the rain. I close the window and tell her there's nothing good out there, evidence dripping from my every end into the carpet. of course she doesn't understand and I can do nothing to make her. she stalks across the keyboard, sulking louder than the kettle. if I ignore her long enough she'll give up and I can listen to the water on the window. I do and she does, taking vigil on my pillow as I relish what I can through the glass. for a moment there is no more running. I sit and breathe without thought or expectation. some kind of stillness between demons and receipts, strong enough to keep them waiting in the hall. words rear like ghosts to spoil the present all too quick. I forget where I was until I lose myself again.
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