Ctrl+Z. Ctrl+Me.

"Just living is not enough", said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
— Hans Christian Andersen.

But ain't that just the point?

It was that sort of sleep in which you wake every hour and think to yourself that you have not been sleeping at all; you can remember dreams that are like reflections, daytime thinking slightly warped.

— Kim Stanley Robinson, Icehenge.


Hilf mir, meine Augen zu schlie├čen.


It was a special one —
that one tabby cat 
who stood out like a sore thumb
among the rest of the cats 
trying to find a place to call home.
Apart from its fur 
distinguishing it from the rest
and its given nickname
because of its colour,
it felt no different from the others.
But it was a special cat —
or at least that was what it chose to think.
Being placed with labels was not by choice,
but wanting to stand out 
was a personal vendetta.
Every one called it nasty names
and regarded it like any other stray cat
who couldn't find a place to belong.
Its mates from the litter had left
without a single meow,
leaving it alone to fend for itself.
None of them were wrong to do so.
They did a fantastic job at leaving
and leaving it defenseless.
It could not be put down further
or lower than where it was.
The only way was up —
or at least that was what it wanted to feel.
It was one special cat —
who had been there;
who had done all that;
and didn't want to go back.
Nobody needed to know how it felt
or what it went through
because it had made one big decision
to move out and move on.
No more fishing for happiness;
this cat no longer needed fish.
Happiness would soon find its way
right into the life of the tabby cat.
It had cleaned up its fur
and build for itself
a new place in the mind
called home.


Hilf mir am Leben zu bleiben.



You don't know.
How to let go.
Who said this must be all or nothing?
But I'm still caught below.
And I'll never let you know.
No, I can't tell you nothing.


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