Buena

When you hear news that means the end of your world, it always seems like your first reaction is to want to tell the world the tragedy that has fallen, and then you want to keep it the worlds greatest secret. Then you want people to know, but without you having to tell them – you want them to understand, but you don’t want the inevitable look of pity that comes first, along with meaningless words made more uncomfortable that the person speaking them knows they’re meaningless, and that there’s nothing mere words can do.

It's been three months now since she died. The worst of the pain is past, but it will never be over. Its sort of like losing a color. There are many beautiful colors, and you can have a full life without ever seeing the color blue again, but with that one color missing, the beauty you can see will never be quite what it was.

No matter how many times my heart's been broken, I could always believe that a true love was still out there, yet to be found, and it eases the hurt, reminds me that there's still hope. But when I think of Buena, I can smile only until I realize that there is no hope of ever seeing her again. I may love many other cats, and grow very close to them, but there will never be another Buena. It really kills me that even in my greatest imaginings of the future, I can't imagine one with her in it anymore. And for that, it could never be perfect.