Một chút linh tinh giữa đêm.
Cho tâm trạng không tên...

the light is turned on,
and the table is already set.

for....

the black cat came back
with cleaner paws,
a softer meow,
and tales rewritten
as if they were its own.

no shame,
no trace,
just eyes that wear innocence
like a mask.

it strolls back in, head held high,
as if the table was never touched,
as if nothing ever fell.

no guilt in those eyes —
just a borrowed coat,
a mimicked purr,
and the same old silence
when asked about the mess.