Minute 8 on the treadmill, a black cat walked by the window right beside me. He had white fur around his neck and white whiskers that shoot out of his face. I looked at him and smiled. He looked at me with keen, quizzical, observant eyes. Three seconds we looked at each other. Me with my dumb, welcoming smile, him with his eyes so bright and penetrating. Then he left. And I accepted the briefness of our exchange. 

Minute 23, he sauntered across the backyard. A row of daffodils bowed at his long, black body. A white butterfly made little circles in the air. The black cat hid behind branches of a dry bush and studied me again. His body veiled by shadow, but I could see the glints in his eyes. He was looking at me, and I him. 

I fantasized him as an invite into the mythical world. I accepted without a second of hesitation. Let me be a lunatic. I’d like to be on the other side. Or rather, be here, but see the mythical. 

If I were a mythical creature, I’d like to be something that morphs. A princess, a witch, a warrior, a dwarf, a seductress, a king, a fairy, the weeping willow, howling wind… and when I take the form of me, I’d know I encompass all.

hold it, my heart, for awhile, it’s beating too fast.

Within weeks, days even, a complete stranger becomes someone so important to you, someone you’d share every intimate detail of your life with, someone you’d call first when something important happens, someone you’d let touch you when you shrink away from most touches. Then with a simple goodbye, back to being strangers. It mustn’t have been real. Lover after lover, dear strangers scattered in this city. From the very first second you marched decidedly to the end. If fleeting is the nature of love, if pain is unavoidable, if goodbyes come with sweet kisses, if having leads to longing, if you know from the start spaces shared will turn into empty spaces in the heart… do you still love?

You hold, carefully, onto the last shred of pain, but even that’s slipping.