he was more of a friend than a pet
a modest, ugly thing
with three souls bound by skin & fur

i’ve never known a mouse to be a functional addict
and i’ve known a mouse or two

he monologued with clever prose
about the impermanence of materialism
and with a deep, angry, disappointment
whenever he saw an empty parking lot

and with reverence regarding the flower that grows through asphalt

you could call the thimbles of ******* he travelled with
cute

most times i listened to him in
silence

when the air was right i would speak as he spoke
identically

he was more of a brother now that i think about it
a shy, talkative sibling
who gave his heart away as quickly as he could

i’ve never known a mouse that cared so much for the world
and so little for himself

she monologued to me,
I was beside her bed.
I could tell that this monologue wasn't meant for me,
it was meant for the stars.
I remember she talked to them a lot,
she thought they were some supernatural beings,
so they would "get it" more than we would.
she probably wasn't wrong, I got in the habit of it too eventually, after she passed of course.
since I knew I was talking to her too up there.

she wasn't talking about anything in particular,
she often didn't,
and I can't exactly recall everything she said,
her words seemed so sacred.
not meant for me to repeat by count.
but at the end of her monologue, she started directing it at me.
telling me that "the universe was made to be seen by your eyes"
and that I was worth a thousand lifetimes.
she never clarified what she meant,
but I took it as if she was telling me that
the world is so beautiful
and so much changes
but I'm beautiful too,
and the changes we both make
are made to be seen together.
the stars and I were made for each other.