Nine Times to Die

Like a cat, I've nine times to die — and love has taken seven. Once, when you said my name like it was a question. Twice, when you answered it with silence. Thrice, when you loved someone else in front of me like I was made of stone instead of soul. I keep returning — from wreckage, from wreck, from wreck again. You don't know how many lives I’ve lost just staying alive next to you. And still — I come back, tail flicking, heart limping, eyes full of the same soft hope that kills me every time. Eight. That’s when you smiled and didn’t mean it. Nine… Well, nine is today. And I’m still here. Still breathing. Still breaking beautifully in front of you. So tell me — When a cat runs out of lives, what does she do? Does she finally sleep? Or does she learn how to die without anyone noticing?