Wavering Superlatives

Even though he knew it wasn’t forever, it could at least seem that way. Hazy delirium set upon him, this time as a contented exhaustion, a culmination of disconnected happy recollections of earlier deliria.

A lovely Grecian cat––a cunning and sleek tortoiseshell––scruffed, cleaned and sparred her kitten. Every lick and playful paw between one another looked so familiar…loving; careless; immeasurable.

He held back a shiver of a giggle, and repressed a tear. Momentarily after damning his profound sensitivity to the happiest sort of sadness, he reconsidered her assertion: perhaps instead it was the saddest sort of happiness.


About andrewwhiting

A sentimental and sarcastic poet, lover of language, traveling and nature (not a fan of the Oxford comma).
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