Curiosity

10Jan08

Curiosity never kills the cat.

Four legs and nine lives and those amazing eyes, how could it?

I would like to swap lives with you for one day, and you wouldn’t be so angry. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be someone else. Waking up you, it wouldn’t be as funny as Hot Chick, more nerve-wrecking than anything else. A bit like rifling through drawers in the hope of finding telling handwritten words, the kind I’d kick myself for even before unfolding. A bit like having my ear pressed against a door, a bit like spying. A faster beating heart, and maybe the novelty of you would make me happier than I have been, and maybe you’d let me take away a little slice of your confidence. You wouldn’t notice it’s gone!

Waking up me you’d scowl at the rain and the leak in the window, and then stop caring when you realise you’ve got the secret bits of me written all over my your newly acquired arms and legs, the books on my shelves, the dregs of my mind in messy blots of biro on lined paper. My fingertip marks on the keyboard, if you wanted to take the prints with you. Perhaps a stray singed hair left behind in my straighteners, just because. Come onnnn, you know you want to!

I’d like to think that we’d both feel better about ourselves the next day, lying in our own beds again, watching our own ceilings, our own clouds blowing across our own patch of sky.

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