Aid to Memory
I do not understand why the cat goes missing for several days and then returns, seeking food and affection.
I am praying for airtime, wishing for air. What I have are this stuffy office and a computer I don’t know how to use.
The fire in the pub hasn’t been lit for months. No-one is talking to anyone they don’t know. Faces have turned hard with age.
The cat is language. This place is too quiet to be home.
Nothing is set in stone.
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