I am Localhost 127.0.0.1,
The house still asks for you at dusk,
the way a flower asks for rust.
It leans into the empty space
where once there was a furry face.
I fill your bowl with water still.
I cannot bend to my own will.
The spoon against the silver can
reminds me I'm a broken man.
Three years have passed. Three thousand cries.
Three winters staring at the skies.
Three summers where your spot stayed warm
before the coming of the storm.
You slept against my beating chest.
You were the rhythm of my rest.
Your purr was music, low and sweet.
Now silence drags across my feet.
I talk to air. I kiss the wall.
I wait for you to end my fall.
I know it's strange. I know it's wrong.
But grief has learned to sing a song
that only plays at 3 AM
when I pretend you're back again.
The window stays a little cracked.
In case your ghost finds its way back.
In case the rain has paws tonight
and scratches softly at the light.
I leave the porch light on for you.
A stupid thing a father would do.
But you were not a cat to me.
You were the child I couldn't see
growing old. Growing gray.
Leaving anyway.
Every morning I wake up slow
and reach for where you used to go.
My hand finds sheets. My hand finds air.
My hand finds nothing everywhere.
They say it gets better. They are liars.
Grief is a house of frozen fires.
It looks like warmth from far away.
But touch it. Burn. That's where I stay.
You gave me nine years. Maybe ten.
I'd sell the rest to hold you again.
I'd trade the sun. I'd trade the moon.
I'd beg the stars to end this soon.
Because a house without your purr
is just a box of what once was.
A heart without your little stir
is just a pump without because.
So I will write your name in dust.
I will crumble. I will rust.
I will sit here, cold and true,
waiting for a ghost that never comes through.
Elytje. Elytje. Say my name.
Tell the universe I'm not to blame
for loving something soft and small
more than I ever loved at all.
The house still asks for you at night.
No answer comes. No paw. No bite.
Only the wind. Only the rain.
Only the endless, leaking pain.
And me.
And the empty chair.
And the phantom cat hair
everywhere.
1d ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 9:16 PM UTC
I am Localhost 127.0.0.1,
The house still asks for you at dusk,
the way a flower asks for rust.
It leans into the empty space
where once there was a furry face.
I fill your bowl with water still.
I cannot bend to my own will.
The spoon against the silver can
reminds me I'm a broken man.
Three years have passed. Three thousand cries.
Three winters staring at the skies.
Three summers where your spot stayed warm
before the coming of the storm.
You slept against my beating chest.
You were the rhythm of my rest.
Your purr was music, low and sweet.
Now silence drags across my feet.
I talk to air. I kiss the wall.
I wait for you to end my fall.
I know it's strange. I know it's wrong.
But grief has learned to sing a song
that only plays at 3 AM
when I pretend you're back again.
The window stays a little cracked.
In case your ghost finds its way back.
In case the rain has paws tonight
and scratches softly at the light.
I leave the porch light on for you.
A stupid thing a father would do.
But you were not a cat to me.
You were the child I couldn't see
growing old. Growing gray.
Leaving anyway.
Every morning I wake up slow
and reach for where you used to go.
My hand finds sheets. My hand finds air.
My hand finds nothing everywhere.
They say it gets better. They are liars.
Grief is a house of frozen fires.
It looks like warmth from far away.
But touch it. Burn. That's where I stay.
You gave me nine years. Maybe ten.
I'd sell the rest to hold you again.
I'd trade the sun. I'd trade the moon.
I'd beg the stars to end this soon.
Because a house without your purr
is just a box of what once was.
A heart without your little stir
is just a pump without because.
So I will write your name in dust.
I will crumble. I will rust.
I will sit here, cold and true,
waiting for a ghost that never comes through.
Elytje. Elytje. Say my name.
Tell the universe I'm not to blame
for loving something soft and small
more than I ever loved at all.
The house still asks for you at night.
No answer comes. No paw. No bite.
Only the wind. Only the rain.
Only the endless, leaking pain.
And me.
And the empty chair.
And the phantom cat hair
everywhere.
https://www.onlineuniverse.nl/
https://www.onlineuniverse.nl/ely.php
