black cat

a black cat crossed in front of me as i walked down the middle of the street on my way home from work.

how cliche, i thought.

the leaves have begun to fall, most are bare, a few still hang on to their spring and summer friends. some hang on hoping it will turn warm again. some hang on, hoping they will feel alive again.

that stupid cat taunts me. everything will be bad luck, it seems to say with the sway of its tail as it saunters across the black pavement. it’s one in the morning, what are you doing out here stupid cat?

crossing your path, i thought it would say.

sometimes everything seems dead. looks dead. feels dead. sometimes the road seems too dark. the trees letting their leaves go could be seen as beautiful, but now it looks ugly. they look naked and opposed to being naked. they looked stripped.

how are you doing, he asked. i said i will be okay. what i should of said, what i thought about after he left, was:

i have been okay and i will be okay again. i should have said that.

i thought that was profound.

i crossed over to the sidewalk, towards the steps to my front door, and that black cat crossed my path again. maybe that would undo it. maybe when i wake up tomorrow morning, or afternoon, everything will look alive. the trees will look like they are sending their leaves away lovingly, awaiting their return with fond memories of what had been, but not harboring any ill feelings because of their separation.

maybe the trees will look content.

i don’t play games, cat, i don’t play games, i thought.

i walked up my stairs, wanting to feel alive, wanting to feel content like those naked trees.

~ by kevinthomas on November 19, 2007.