Things I cannot do

Beach - Windy Day - Dania 

By J9

The house is silent. The cats are away, sleeping somewhere between here and the lake. I hear some noises outside. There's no music. You left me. You left me because of my lack of: the things I cannot do. The clock is ticking. I am 34 and counting. A hummingbird came to visit the other day. We had a brief talk about patience and beauty. If I could be a bird, I have told her, I wish I could be you. Beautiful colors in such a tiny body. My cats sleep. Tired from not doing anything. My head hurts. My Russian is gone. Life hurts. Not if we can forget quickly. Transfer the pain. I am looking for a man who wants dogs. (laughing at myself for having said that). I guess the right man will also have to like cats. At least he is going to have to like Edwin, The Rabbit and Benjamin the Fatty. This iPhone thing is really crazy. I have almost  4 thousand photos stored in my phone. It's almost like I photograph everything I feel like and it's convenient. So I became quite the amateur photographer. I photograph the sky and birds. My cats who are fluffy and happy and fat balls of love. I photograph my own face that's aging and gets tired easily. I photograph food because of its colors and the freshness of its moment. The moment it captures that is. It can capture beauty and happiness or sickness and poverty. It can capture the hours that it took to prepare a dish and the disposition the cook had. Or the lack of all those things. Pictures tell a silent story. Maybe because of these silent stories I am not able to write that much anymore. I feel content with these stories of streets and skies that I see and capture with my phone. So my blog became silent. But then the Russian hurt me. And after so many cuts. I am ready to bleed.