S. K. Nicholas
In a room with the curtains drawn, she turns her back on me and curls into a ball. When I put my arm around her, I want to give her my words, but I’m frightened by what’s inside. So I keep quiet. She waits and waits, but there’s nothing from my mouth save for the warm air I breathe against the back of her neck. Sometimes she cries. She tosses and turns always making sure to hide her face from mine. The hours tick away. She falls asleep then wakes, and when she rolls over and looks me in the eyes, all at once I feel as light as a feather and as heavy as the black dog on my shoulder.
From somewhere outside comes the sound of meowing cats. They sing in a chorus only they know the meaning of. In my clumsy way, I meow just like them…
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