The rain stopped, the mud runs to the river. The cloud lifted, the dust settled. When eyes can see and hand can reach, one that stand before me is not a giant.
He was an uppity baby that everyone looked over; but its not Goliath that wins the game.
At the long lasting battle during the outbreak, and the Goddess of Fortune that always sides against us: the wind, the rain, the cold; he was the spy that lurk behind, the one that sneaked under, stopped by my cheek and let my tears wet his coat.
He whispered: I am alive.
Every time I lost, every soul that went, he slipped at night, from the battlefront to whisper the news: I am alive.
And then he disappear.
I will see him sitting by the fallen, I will see him standing by those whose soul was stolen, looking at those I had to let go. I will see him walked away, when I look into the beads of his eyes so dark, it’s difficult to find. But the moment I see him, I lost him, he went along through the day as I lift myself one more time, one more day.
He didn’t come to me one night, just once. In the morning I see that he stood vigil for the last to lose in the battle: his brother.
When the night come, there he will be again, whispering: I am alive.
This morning under the sky that showers our land since dawn, I found him nearby. Sitting by my leg, still hidden, still unseen. He lays on his side, his belly puffed and fall.
How big was he, when he first come to my door? How old was he, when he first walk through my home?
It felt like centuries. The small legs that wean itself from the milky broth that extended his life, one day after another. The ears that twitch to many different sound, the nook and cranny of my decrepit little shelter, to the run, to the jump, to the climb.
And this morning when I touch him in his sleep, he is still as big as the palm of my hand, with beads of eyes so dark, it’s difficult to find.
Not so long after I will once again lift myself, one more time, one more day. I know he will walk behind me, I know he will disappear.
The rain awash my land were almost deafening then, although it’s still early after the morning glow.
Beyond this room many others are still asleep, each in their own kitty dreams.
Soon the bowl will be filled, and the first sip out of mountain water will start the day.
I will hear his whisper then: I am alive