A cat that sleeps in the evening. You were my favourite love.
Silent is the heatwave bouncing off wood walls.
A gentle purr of dissociation from consciousness, the vibration, Schumann's resonance, love.
A contorted tail swiftly swept over a velvet blanket to remind you: it was true, your affection was denied, perhaps in cruel ways.
Of emerald eyes, a feline pupil dilating in the dark. It was loved.
As much as it kept distant, a distant is kept.
You walk away from this love, body tense, furs rising, and scared.
Avoidant is the metal tag choking it around the neck, heavy of the address and name of who should it be returned to in case it wandered off.
Pushed and pulled.
In the symmetry of ears, twitching by soft touches, you were always a pleasant company.
A creature of gracefulness.
The escapade sure is a thrill. The chase, denials and ignorance. Each part was an individual entity. Each of it was your way of saying, "You are never good enough for me," without actually discarding me.
