return

i heard he'd left a feline in the south and started making his way back west. by the end of the summer he arrived at my front door with his fur as radiant as ever. he says he's been roaming past the fields he used to viciously graze, looking for a patch to do his mending. 

but darling, there's no mending to be done. you've migrated thousands of miles and back with intentions to bandage wounds that do not exists outside of your own mind. you've come back expecting healing, and instead we've all lined up to wonder, "why now?"