LIKE FIRST LOVE

The wound is the place where light enters you.
I wouldn’t have known. If I asked Fuuta, he won’t answer, and if he does, I would have lost in translation.

Still I come; and when I come I will call him, and call him. Sometimes my call would broke to smiles, when he came running toward me from under the bushes. Sometimes my call will turn into frowns, when he wouldn’t answer then, my call will turn into worry. I will wait a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer, and longer.
But when it’s time to finally turn away and be gone, my call will turn into prayers that left behind, wishing him safety and joy, wherever he might be.

Whenever he will come, there will be a moment of peace; for him. For me, a time for learning. Learning of a certain motorcycle parked just across where we sit, learning of the way he keeps looking at the two men that seems to just chat with each other. Learning why some taste of whiskas pouch Fuuta won’t touch, learning why some other taste he only drink the water.

Learning that for sure, my thought and suspicion were not slander; they were truth. Learning that for sure, the vile and evil indeed copy me. They gave whiskas when I do, they give chicken when I do. It’s just that when our gathering always end with a pat on the back and love, their fake feast ends with sacks and rope to follow.
Fuuta up his game by stop eating. I up his game by feasts they cannot follow

Grilled Gindara Teriyaki? It worth three times commoner’s daily meal and Fuuta eats them like there will not be other chance in eternity. Braised Dory Fillet? Two extra large fillets and it will cost half those demons salary. Steamed Norwegian Salmon? Boiled King Prawn?

They think am digging my own grave, and left with laughter. I think they don’t need to know I worked in an upscale supermarket, and sometimes, the king’s feast went to the bin where no one is allowed to go. See? I left with laughter too.

I also left with the same pat on the back and love. I also left with encouragement and assurance; that wherever he is in his own side of the world, Shota would still live for the two of them, so Fuuta would, perhaps, do the same.

I still left with prayers, that wherever he is, whatever he do, he will find love, peace, and joy.

He does. In his size and his age. A calico tabby with white chest.

When we rescuers or stray cats workers see a pair of cats rubbing each other, we’d know what to do. Autopilot. Cliche; habit. We done it so often it’s imprinted deep into our bones. It’s time for trapping, it’s time for spaying, it’s time for neutering. Our heart will skip a beat and we’d freak for the chances of unwanted death, or sickness, mostly to protect ourselves from more pain.

How many of those rescuers listen? To the way they talked to each other. How many of those rescuers see? To the way they walked together, the way they rub each other’s chin.

The way they come toward me, the way they approach me, with merry steps, with innocent tail waves, with shyness on their eyes as they looked at me straight in the eye; and hope so loud I cannot say no.

Fuuta walked with her like Shota walked with him. Fuuta purrs to her like Shota calling him, Fuuta nudge her like Shota encourage him, the girl follows him like Fuuta follows Shota. Like she is sixteen going on seventeen, and depend on the one seventeen going on eighteen; but only because Fuuta is her brother, and she is his sister.
They both lost their mother, they both lost their peer in the litter.

Lovers find secret places
inside this violent world
where they make transactions
with beauty.

And then they don’t grieve, because all they lost, comes around in another form.

~ Josie

paypal.me/whiskerssyndicate

The wound is the place where light enters you.
Lovers find secret places
inside this violent world
where they make transactions
with beauty.
“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”
Quotes by
Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, Mevlânâ/Mawlānā, Mevlevî/Mawlawī, and more popularly simply as Rumi, was a 13th-century Persian Sunni Muslim poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic. Born: September 30, 1207, Died: December 17, 1273 in Konya, Turkey

I am sixteen going on seventeen…
You are seventeen going on eighteen
I’ll depend on you
“Sixteen Going on Seventeen” is a show tune from the 1959 Rodgers and Hammerstein musical The Sound of Music.


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