The moon leaks through the attic.
A cat drinks silver from the floorboards.
Somewhere, a future teacup breaks
before it is made.
⸻
No “before.”
No “after.”
Only the sound
of paws crossing water
without becoming wet.
⸻
Nothingness grows restless.
An empty bowl
dreams of milk.
A dark room
imagines a window.
The universe begins this way:
one soft mistake
repeating beautifully.
⸻
The cat walks diagonally
through sleeping centuries.
Candles bloom in reverse.
Dead radios whisper tomorrow.
Snow falls upward
into black branches.
Still—
the cat stops
to watch a beetle.
⸻
Important moments branch quietly.
Not like thunder.
More like bamboo bending
around invisible wind.
A missed glance.
A train door closing.
One lantern left burning
for someone who never returns.
Entire worlds split apart
without disturbing the tea.
⸻
The river avoids the mountain
by becoming patient.
The cat understands this.
It sleeps inside broken temples,
inside laundromats at 3AM,
inside the warm engine
of a stranger’s car.
Every life:
another sunbeam
crossing cold dust.
⸻
The observer counts sequence.
The cat counts warmth.
To humans,
time is a staircase collapsing.
To the cat,
time is many blankets
folded into one small circle.
⸻
Nothingness is never empty long.
Silence sprouts crickets.
Darkness ferments stars.
A forgotten hallway
fills slowly with ghosts of perfume.
Even the void
cannot resist singing.
⸻
A thousand cats move at once.
One starves beneath neon rain.
One rules an empire of moss.
One sleeps beside a monk
who mistakes purring
for enlightenment.
All are true.
All are passing.
⸻
The cat reaches the end of time
and finds a wooden porch
during summer evening.
Wind chimes.
Wet grass.
Someone laughing inside the house.
It sits there a long while,
tail wrapped around eternity,
watching fireflies drift
through the enormous machinery
of becoming.
⸻
Then softly—
like steam leaving tea,
like snow abandoning heaven—
the cat steps forward
into nothingness again.
And the emptiness,
lonely for company,
begins once more
to bloom.
WaveyOvertone472
