Same Song

I have things to do but laying here feels more important right now. The hood of my hoodie is rolled under my neck. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t care enough to fix it. I play the same song on repeat maybe seven times now. The song understands me. It’s a one-way conversation. I hear it whisper, this one is for you. I’m grateful to feel understood, even in solitude. A cat sits beside me. Just staring. I wonder what he thinks of cold winter mornings, silent evenings. If they had inner monologues, would it work for them, or against them? I do wonder. Maybe wondering is what got us here in the first place.