elizabethlevett

To love something feral is to be very careful and very patient.

You have to wait sometimes and then let the surprise begin to happen.

You have to be grateful when trust is finally earned, and tenderness shown.

To love a feral thing is to know that there will always be that night eventually

when the work is fulfilled and the bond is finally a thing of joy, a thing of understanding.

To love something feral is to never mention the effort, to never mention what it took.

It is to always know that instinct has been there from the beginning,

before trust, before tenderness, and that instinct will be there at the end.

Loving a feral thing is knowing that there will always be that night eventually

when the work is finished and the thing you have loved

remembers instinct, remembers or decides that the end will have to be a mystery.

All you can do is hope that it was easy, or at least that it was quick

but you’ll never know.

You can only be grateful even as you feel the absence so deeply.

All you know is what you’ve always known, that it had to be this way.