Salvation

5 ~

This is Why I Don't Go On Walks

D A Y A
•••

I'm in a state of shock, really.

I'm unable to move from my position after having walked a mere few feet from her.

That did not go as expected. At all.

Princess Fluffball's presence in my arms calms me more than anything else could, and I find myself gently rocking her. "That's right, escape this cruel world," I whisper quietly as my kitten's belly rises and falls cutely, signalling to me that she remains asleep. Someone walking behind me gives me an odd look, and I try to brush the effect of judgement off, but find it difficult. I wish I could be more like her...whatever her name is. Now I'll never know it, I suppose.

Why am I disappointed? I take a step forwards inadvertently, my thoughts driving my movement.

Why, despite her attitude, despite her obvious unwillingness to give me the time of day – let alone what she's called – do I wish to meet her once more? Step. Am I bereft of the minor amount of self - respect I thought I had? Step. That would be disappointing to say the least. Step.

Maybe it's her eyes, those pretty greyish - green orbs. Those eyes observe with detachment, or swirl with emotion. I stride forward upon thinking this, my speed increasing as my thoughts grow in intensity. Or is it her lips? They're pursed and gorgeous, a pale pink that's enviably attractive. By this time, I'm speeding along. Although we can't bypass her skin – it's more yellowy than pinkish, and smooth as a freshly ironed sheet; it's free from acne or pockmarks. Now I'm beginning to pant – and it's because I'm running, and for no other reason whatsoever! Her features? Don't get me started...they're angular, sharp, and thin – perfectly accentuated. Those cheekbones are nothing short of glamorous. Her body, too, is slender and awe - inspiring. She cuts a boldly beautiful figure, and the dark clothes that hang off it are almost as appealing.

At this point, I'm practically running, my feet slamming the pavement below as I cushion my kitten in my arms.

Before I force myself to screech to a stop.

Stop it. She isn't worth your time, my subconscious demands of me, and I apply its advice as well as I can. My mind is wise; I respect it, or try to.

It's right: It's not as if she deserves my thoughts of admiration. I tried so hard to be nice and she was too cranky to return the favour – even though she has it all! I saw how she was looked at, how some combination of her attitude and her looks seem to work a charm on others. She enchants them. And I refuse to be among that crowd. She doesn't deserve to enchant me.

It's with a decent amount of relief that I open my front door and allow myself in. My house is my sanctuary; I've filled it with everything I love. I can afford that, fortunately – a fact which I'll forever be grateful for. There are plants scattered all around, splashes of blue, red, and pink everywhere, and most importantly, overly dramatic photos of my cat photoshopped onto a throne that I bought for a few hundred.

It was a necessity, really – what else was I to do? Leave my house walls barren of images of my child?! That's not my idea of ideal cat - rearing.

As I lie down on the couch, I gently place Princess Fluffball next to me. "Princess Fluffy," I whisper. "I hope you rest well."

At that very moment, Princess jerks awake, gives me a glare as if to say, "You didn't need to chat with the lady for that long!" and departs primly.

"But even that long wasn't enough," I whisper painfully.

I don't know what's wrong with me; I'm feeling this urge to run back, shouting, "Wait, don't go!" and inquire after the woman's name...but I can't, of course. She'd judge me.

She doesn't know how it feels, not wanting to break one's heart again.

She doesn't know how it feels, to be alone, with no one caring enough to be with one.

She doesn't know how it feels, to be helplessly attached to someone one has just met for no reason.

She doesn't know.

So she would judge.

And that isn't an opinion. That's a fact.

With that, my jaw hardens. "Well, Little Miss Judgemental, I don't need your – your – your judgement."

Mentally patting myself on the shoulder, I mumble, "Sick burn."

—

reminder to surround yourself with puns and positivity