How mousie of me

Squeak squeak squeak… The little annoying sound I make. How I wish I could chirp and tweet. Maybe, at least, I don’t sound so … err… mousie? But was it really the sound? Or the seed of the sound? Special breed of boredom, dreary and monotony. To me, it’s something. To me, it’s fascinating. Pure stupidity and naive, you think so? I am, but, a little mouse.

Little, furry, squeaky. Am I that terrifying? That even massive elephants run screaming at the sight of me. Are my blunt teeth are of fangs? Or my fur is of needles and spikes? Or my tiny paws are of claws? Or do I emit a horrible stink? If not, why you are standing on your chairs and tables? With your mouth opened wide. Out came a thunderous shout. That sends me running back into my hole. I am, just, a little mouse.

All those cheesey wheesey cakes I craved. Chocolate cheese cakes and marble cheese cakes are my ultimate favourites. I truly absolutely love to laugh and sing and dance. Above all, I sincerely want to love. Willing to love. Yearning to love. I got so much to give. And so much more desire to give. I am, truly, a little mouse

Oh, no, I am not made of steel nor wood. I have a heart. My heart can bleed when pierced. My eyes could cry when my heart bleed. I want to be loved. Want to be taken care of. Want to be cherished. Want to feel accepted. I have dreams, too, you know. Of candies and sweets and everything nice. I am, still, a little mouse.

Punishment. Someone once told me. Punishment. His voice echoed every moment. What I did so wrong, that this “curse” fell upon me? Certainly I can argue for days, months and even years why I deserve even more. But surely, the Creator does not deserve all these doubts but all worthy of my faithfulness. How contradicting can I be?

Guess, I am, all in all, a little mouse.