My cat is sitting on my windowsil

I hate to sit here and think I’m sad.

I am stationed at the windowsil with my cat and all he seems to worry about or be fixated on is the rain drops dripping from the gutters of my house and the wet grass that’s lightly glistening as the sun sets and is forced to be kept away til morning.

I hate to think that such weather is aimed to corral such sadness on purpose. 

I try to grasp my thoughts and release them along with the marijuana smoke I inhaled a couple of seconds ago, but even then it holds onto the inner caves of my mind for dear life. As if the existence of these thoughts created something as spectacular as humanity and without it, it would change time all together. 

Nothing ever remaining the same. 

How tragic? 

For these thoughts to succumb and for my “happy thoughts” to suffice. 

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