She was a cat named Ninja. He was...Nothing.
She walked on open cans and jumped over open drains,
He loomed over parachute heights and dived into colourless lakes.
She purred with a passion.
He sighed in nonchalance.
Vengeance was another whisker.
No movement, in sight, ever skipped her.
Plastered on a wall, through the eyes of a poster,
He looked for long, until he found her.
Whistling through the wind,
A tune, needing repair.
Listening to it as it were,
Ninja felt something, in the air.
The whiff from the bins did not, however, change.
No matter how old, no branches did either break.
The darkness and the heat were one as always.
Yet something was amiss and unlike yesterday.
Stuck on the wall, Nothing moved.
From poster to pillar,
And now to where she stood.
She looked around to find her shawdow behind.
Fighting her mind,
Forcing the demons to go back inside.
She said, "No one could be around."
When they repeatedly reminded her of that terrible sound.
'Unscrupulous and deviant!
She'd never change', He thought.
'Why is she so blind?'
Knowing not that, Nothing was on her mind.
She mewed in discomfort,
Gaining decibels in forbidden anger.
But Nothing changed.
And Nothing moved,
From alley to hood.
Away from where she stood.
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