Remember the deaf/mute old man that I told you about? He has a one-eyed cat with human-like tendencies, or at least tendencies that aren't naturally peculiar to cats, like standing on its hind legs and not reacting to its own reflection. I found that out recently, and it seemed to make all the sense in the world. It seemed to make so much sense as to throw off my natural balance of things. Do things really happen for a reason? Maybe it only makes sense to me, but even I know that the world doesn't make this much sense without at least a consequential message. Only, what is the message? If it's not this, that is? It's a lucky coincidence, one that managed to put a smile on my face more mornings than most.
He can read now, he taught himself how to read using discarded newspapers. He has the purest laughter in the world, with neglected and broken front teeth, a voice that's a note short from being whole, and a breath away from being a whisper. Scratchy and out of breath, with enough strength to breathe life into a harpy. Physics won't let it echo so it wouldn't throw off its fragile numbered systems, but it echoes loud enough if you know how to listen.
He still gets his own broomstick and cleans around his area at 7 am everyday, even though he doesn't have to, wasn't asked to, and it's not his job. He still does it because it makes him happy, or rather because he's human enough to humanize 5 square metres around him at all times.
He's a wonderful human being, and he won't ever know it in his lifetime, nor will he be remembered afterwards because I don't think he has any family. He restores order and throws off more in my head, and he won't ever know it. The world hasn't broken him, although it has tried. Some people are just bigger than the world I guess.
His cat is a curious creature as well. I thought I may have rationalized this into my own conscious memory to add a certain magic, or maybe that's only how I saw it because I wanted to see it, for people only see what they want to see, but I like to believe it isn't. One-eyed and seems to linger longer than most of its fellows on things that wouldn't naturally stop a cat, like a twirling leaf or an intriguing shoe. It's bound to the man though neither of them seem to depend on the other. He feeds it when he can and it brings him bird offerings when it could. They greet with a 7 second or so long glare every morning, that they snatch in the middle of chores, like the look you may give an old friend with stories that don't need recounting but are shared nonetheless. It's funny.
I wonder if he has enough clothes, it's getting colder.
It's wonderful night tonight, cold and quiet and tangibly there. One of those nights that you can rest in without having to rest. I've found peace as well, it was within me all along. Bad things haven't stopped happening, they still do and they are even worse. People aren't getting better, they're shittier than I remember. Life isn't giving more chances, and taking away more than most. But I'm happy, through it, somehow. I've found peace.
I remember a good friend once telling me that no person can ever be whole or completely happy if they're not their own home. I think I found home now.
He can read now, he taught himself how to read using discarded newspapers. He has the purest laughter in the world, with neglected and broken front teeth, a voice that's a note short from being whole, and a breath away from being a whisper. Scratchy and out of breath, with enough strength to breathe life into a harpy. Physics won't let it echo so it wouldn't throw off its fragile numbered systems, but it echoes loud enough if you know how to listen.
He still gets his own broomstick and cleans around his area at 7 am everyday, even though he doesn't have to, wasn't asked to, and it's not his job. He still does it because it makes him happy, or rather because he's human enough to humanize 5 square metres around him at all times.
He's a wonderful human being, and he won't ever know it in his lifetime, nor will he be remembered afterwards because I don't think he has any family. He restores order and throws off more in my head, and he won't ever know it. The world hasn't broken him, although it has tried. Some people are just bigger than the world I guess.
His cat is a curious creature as well. I thought I may have rationalized this into my own conscious memory to add a certain magic, or maybe that's only how I saw it because I wanted to see it, for people only see what they want to see, but I like to believe it isn't. One-eyed and seems to linger longer than most of its fellows on things that wouldn't naturally stop a cat, like a twirling leaf or an intriguing shoe. It's bound to the man though neither of them seem to depend on the other. He feeds it when he can and it brings him bird offerings when it could. They greet with a 7 second or so long glare every morning, that they snatch in the middle of chores, like the look you may give an old friend with stories that don't need recounting but are shared nonetheless. It's funny.
I wonder if he has enough clothes, it's getting colder.
It's wonderful night tonight, cold and quiet and tangibly there. One of those nights that you can rest in without having to rest. I've found peace as well, it was within me all along. Bad things haven't stopped happening, they still do and they are even worse. People aren't getting better, they're shittier than I remember. Life isn't giving more chances, and taking away more than most. But I'm happy, through it, somehow. I've found peace.
I remember a good friend once telling me that no person can ever be whole or completely happy if they're not their own home. I think I found home now.
