Consoling Erwin Rudolf Josef Alexander Schrödinger

By Shruti Shah

was anything ever mine?

a thought that made my fingers

rest on the bulging butcherable dandruff.

three minutes into january midnight.

and

it is

four minutes into january midnight,

and five.

how many ands till those fingers rest in grave?

how many more minutes till it is a february midnight?

three minutes into february midnight.

and

it is

four minutes into february midnight,

and five.

had I known

that those same months would happen to me

in that same order

but not the moments lived

and the people with me in those moments,

I would not be here

with white pieces of paper

on my orange hot blanket.

twelve minutes into a january midnight.

thinking about

what

all those moments meant

and the people with me in those moments meant.

everytime I

look back

I wonder

why I look back?

why I do so?

Past

is the Schrodinger’s lost cat;

dead and alive

at the same time.

Erwin lost her

as soon

as his theorizing ceased.

But Erwin,

I would like to tell you

don’t worry anymore

please.

she exists in millions

and mine-

the my cat

Im never letting go.

im powerless there.

why I look back

and reach her to pet

almost reflexively?

my cat

simply

is

too innocent and pure.

I just cant ignore

the charms

of the time gone.

merriam webster vommed

‘mine’

as

‘that which belongs to me’-

I thought

and thought

and thought.

And arrived at such words:

only my cat is solely mine.

and only she ever was,

and only she ever will.

everything else

is

was

and will remain

‘not mine’.

By Shruti Shah