One day, when she’s walking home, she stops and feels wrong. Not knowing what, she pushes forward, feet moving and hands swinging lightly by her sides, never minding the gnawing feeling of something
The feeling soon disappears when reaching home, when being enveloped in walls that she knows and feel secure in. Something safe. Something right.
,,Anyone home?”, she yells out, eyes scanning the floor of any sign of recent living activity. No sound, except a high-pitched, obviously displeased, whine from outside. With an endearing sigh of knowledge, she reaches out and opens up the door, a small cat instantly jumping in, not letting a second go to waste.
,,Hey little guy,” she squats down, hand reaching out to pet the soft fur, black hair running between her fingers as the cat meows yet again, this time a tad more pleased. The pleasing isn’t fulfilled however, before the food bowl gets filled with food, something that leaves the little thing occupied for the next couple of minutes.
Kicking off shoes and shrugging off her jacket, she walks inside the kitchen, further to her living room and settles down
Swallowing the feeling that something is not quite right.
,,Please tell me what’s wrong, dear.”
Why is she so
,,Please let me help you.”
Why is she so far
The other blinks, learning down as she looks at the frail human before her, a human that is something alike to
,,Please, please, please, please..”
And then something akin to terror grows inside her, because this isn’t the person she knows, this isn’t how she’s supposed to be and act, there’s a line between things called being okay and not okay, and that line somehow
Seems very gone at the moment.
Take me away.
She doesn’t get away, despite her wishes. She’s one not meant to be here, she thinks – she thinks that maybe, just maybe, these feelings harbored inside her is the cause of that. Of being fit into a world that isn’t quite ready for her, and maybe that is a narrow-minded thing to believe, but she needs something, someone, anything that can explain this – why she is forced to view the world as she does, why some breaths feel so wrong that she wishes she could pull them back and do them right.
But somehow, once let go of, it is gone.
,,There’s nothing more I want than to be a part of this world,” she whispers down to blank lines and white paper when she’s alone.
She doesn’t get an answer.
But it somehow feels soothing anyway – like the paper reaches out and take the words, take them somewhere safe and right and where maybe, just maybe
She is allowed to breathe again.
,,Maybe I won’t ever be a right thing for this world,” she says down to the paper another day, pen leaving her hand as she rises up and turns, leaving behind something that’s not letting go.