Via Erin’s Clishmaclaver

Too often, ‘what’s the point?’ played in the background of her mind like a song on an endless loop. It was there when she did the dishes, made the bed, picked up the mail. When absorbed in a task, it disappeared only to attack at an oblique angle when she was enjoying the satisfaction of finishing. ‘What’s the point?’ bled away the satisfaction, leaving a sad blankness in its place.

The only time it was ever completely silent was when she fed the animals. Dog and cat faces turned her way, intent on her every move; dog and cat bodies either still or tails thumping in anticipation. Once in a while, there would be a vocalization; a whisper woof or a quiet mew said with face turned away or looking down. That was as close as they ever came to asking and she knew that if she didn’t feed them, they would not be disappointed. They would wait, hopeful, but not demanding. When she looked at them, waiting to be fed, touched, loved, she always knew what the point was.