It’s just right there.
The dreamy, hopeful glance.
A scared hope,
a frail, disastrous one.
One that can crush mountains and lift oceans.
It can move people to destroy monuments
and cry for help on ships in dried rivers.
If we were cats we’d shake with it,
yet all we do is desire,
inwardly, cowardly, perhaps,
Ashamed of our selfish wishes
to be worshipped by a gesture.
The streets filled with bikes
rushing pasts, afraid of even a blink,
while all the piles of your day,
your annoying boss, your overflowed desk,
your guilt at cancelling on your friend, at what you ought to do,
at the hug of a stranger.
And little do we know,
and even less do we share
of that longing, crass dream that comes
and goes as we wish-wash it away as inappropriate,
or frightening. Or horny.
And the lights go out in our houses, one by one,
to fall asleep in beds alone,
separated by night
once again, wishing we were creatures
who could see in the dark.
It might be pretty obvious that I'm living with a cat at the moment. I'm taking care of my sister's cat, and as a definite cat person I'm really enjoying it (except that one time I locked myself out and the cat didn't want to come back in, long story).
And at the same time, many of my friends and family are on holiday and I live in a new place (temporarily) so I'm also feeling a bit alone, which you can probably also tell. It's a bit of an emotional one for me. I like it.
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