Cat Call

The last time that I wrote to you was in December.  The weather was cold, the trees were heavy with ice.  There had been a storm the night before and I spent most of my time alone or with my cat.  Now spring and summer have both elapsed without a word sent from my hand to you, why?  You have been in my thoughts.  I carry you with me always, you have become a regular character in my dreams even, why?  That is not fair.  Me getting to have all the fun of knowing you, doing regular things and meaning together, while you, what have you been doing with me?  Those are my real questions, plural because there are so many tightly compacted in my singular asking, the words ripe with echo of all the other times, moments, my moments, me, when I have thought about your thinking of me.  Did I hurt you or did you hurt you?  I would like you to really ask yourself with me in mind, this is a deep examination where I will either be asked to change or will be exonerated, so be thoughtful and honest, if you can.  If any of us are able to be the h-word, but we only get there by trying, and in doing so we expose our true character, always a becoming in being so, however, you mean, thank you, or god, thank your god for me, even if that means absents, thank yourself for me.  I am not done with you in me, now you are only me, the reason I believe you left me in order to destroy this thing, stupid boy, stupid, what you cannot see is still very much afoot, you turned a blind eye and body, leaving only the residue of my thoughts for you, that which you tried to erase, the me of you, obliterate, the we between.  Oh no, good man, if you are good enough for for this demon of lust it cannot let up its grasp so fast, too bad for you, but goof for me, a playmate always.  I gave up on seeing you, I say to myself, loud enough to write and try to mean, but that's not me, to leave the you out there alone, it is what gave rise to the toy of torment and joy, kill the kitten with curiosity.  It's true, I am like a cat having learned so much from them my whole life, quite as I am, paying attention, isn't that loving?  Watching enough, the mouse in my mind, cat paw of speculation reaching.  What am I without obsession over remaining, these habits I am so god damn fond of fawning over.  Dear God, I hope to always be able to seek out someone or something to love.