u/GreenThumbsz

Or should I just go get myself a burrito?

Monday morning, 5:30 a.m. Terrible night.

No little head nudges my face, forcing me to get up.

No footsteps on the vinyl floor.

"Damn… It really happened."

Coffee. It's raining.

"It's about time, everything was dying."

But my thoughts aren't on the weather.

The end of an ordeal.

The garden where she'd been isolating herself these past few weeks.

The heatwave and that stifling atmosphere that preceded the inevitable tragedy.

It would have been unfair to keep her any longer.

And the earth starting to absorb water again just as I'm drying up inside.

The little one eats, but never stops observing her surroundings.

I stay beside her, my cup in hand.

She climbs onto the sofa and lies down. I finish getting ready. She gets up, lets out an incredulous meow, then lies down again, closing her eyes.

A new silence for her too.

I pick up my briefcase, each movement a tremendous effort.

A glance, before I leave.

She's finally asleep peacefully on my t-shirt, enveloped in the comforting scent and exhausted from the last 36 hours.

"It's just you and me now."

Like a silent pact sealed on the doorstep.

I go outside and turn the key in the lock. The street is quiet at this hour.

A lump in my throat.

The rain has stopped.

The world keeps turning at its own pace.

A part of mine has come to a complete standstill.

Everything is different now.

Monday morning, 5:30 a.m. Terrible night.

No little head nudges my face, forcing me to get up.

No sound of ear pads on the vinyl.

"Damn… It really happened."

Coffee. It's raining.

"About time, everything was dying."

But deep down, my thoughts aren't on the weather.

The end of an ordeal.

The garden where she'd been isolating herself these past few weeks.

The heatwave and that stifling atmosphere that preceded the inevitable tragedy.

And the earth begins to drink again just as I'm drying up inside.

The little one eats, but never stops observing her surroundings.

I stay beside her, my cup in hand.

She climbs onto the sofa and lies down. I finish getting ready. She gets up, lets out an incredulous meow, then lies down again, closing her eyes.

A new silence for her too.

I pick up my briefcase, each movement requiring immense effort.

Before leaving, I glance at her.

She's finally asleep peacefully on my t-shirt, enveloped in the comforting scent and exhausted from the last 36 hours.

"It's just you and me now."

Like a silent pact sealed on the doorstep.

I go outside and turn the key in the lock. The street is quiet at this hour.

A lump in my throat.

The rain has stopped.

The world keeps turning at its own pace.

A part of mine has come to a complete standstill.

Everything is different now.