Though I still can’t sleep, now I at least have some company. (For those who didn’t read the previous entry, I don’t mean some hot Latin guy, I mean a furry animal I picked up off the street. Classy, ey.) Just recently I detected myself actually enjoying my loneliness. At night, I feel myself form to it, as though I were in someone’s arms under the sheets, enveloped in their dark warmth. I could sigh deep in my chest, and it would tighten its hold around me. So many nights, waiting for the sky to ripen this way.
Tonight, Stanley is sprawled beside me. He makes his presence known with the release of blood-stopping farts. Every once in a while, he opens his eyes to verify his surroundings. He seems so grateful and complete, lying next to me. I wonder if he has ever rested on a blanket before, if he understands what softness is. It hurts to consider these things. The vets estimate him to be about a year old, but what could he possibly have been through before today? Just a few hours before, I had cut away some gum that had dried to his fur, and traced a hairless line (a scar?) down his face.
Time slackens at night, allows me to catch my breath. There are so many histories I am too late for.
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