Things, im less attached to. Ive consolidated and pruned off my belongings to move across country without a car several times. To have a thing and then not have a thing is not a big deal to me. The loss is not serious.
I don’t know- did I ever imagine it? What it would be like to lose everything though? Im sure that if I did, that I just as quickly pushed the thought out of my mind. Inconceivable. I mean, it really is though- to conceive of every little thing lost. Not a category of things or an amount of things kept in a box somewhere altogether being lost. But all of it indiscriminately. Its hard to imagine, so I guess I never have.
But again there I go with false idea that if I imagine things I can protect myself from them.
Life is filled with so many unimaginable events. The shock of it hurts so much. I think if I could just consider all of them—any of them happening that I wont ever be caught off guard again.
But that’s so stupid bc fate is like that. A sleeping little creature that waits until you don’t notice it under all the settled dust. Until you are calm and comfortable interacting with your world. And then it rises up, shaking you off, throwing you into a space you don’t know. And yeah, you imagined it. You imagined it. But not really, and your imagining will not protect you. You are no sorcerer. There is, stunningly, no magic. The dullness is stark and cold. Empty empty empty. There’s nothing.
How many times did I go out into the night calling for him to come inside? I’d walk the length of the shotgun- laundry room- kitchen- hallway – living room – mj’s room – nyx’s room – so long we can’t get wi fi in the whole house no matte how much we pay for it. When i get to the front of the house, I call for him. sometimes he is in the bushes in the front of the house. at freddie’s house. every time i wearily check the street for a lump of his furry body. nothing but the eerie expanse of blankness under the live oaks and LED streetlights.
sometimes he doesn’t come. usually he doesn’t. usually i am wearing a t shirt and no underwear. but slippers, definitely. even in the cold, 40 degrees, i come out in my t shirt and no pants. ill come out with my hair wet. ill come out in the middle of the night when id been sleeping already. id come out at dawn.
there is nothing
better than his squeak and little hop out of wherever he was. how he talks to me and i say “hi my baby its bedtime, come to bed” and he trots along with me along the length of the shotgun – nyx-mj–living-hall-kitchen-laundry.
he never entered without caution. he always sniffed the entrance-way of the door. sometimes for an excruciatingly long time. when it was cold. and other kittens were getting in.
and then he ate his kit and kaboodle. he refused to eat any other food. he would literally starve himself. he would cry and scratch at the table legs until i sat behind him and rubbed his hindquarters as he ate. then he would pur and settle his legs in and get into eating and feel safe.
it meant so much to me to make sure he was safe. to make him feel safe.
i can’t cannot cannt cannttt believe that i wasn’t there for him when he was crying. in his secret hiding place. where he was burned. i cant believe i could not rescue him from harm.