Dearest dog who knew me,
As another calendar crawls to closure, I am still a lost lad with unrequited dreams. But I am good at ridiculing reasons. And I am great at ruminating over what remains, what could have been and how I love you, still.
If I could just open my veins and write, may be I’d find the words that run deeper than any ink. Perhaps they’d show you the chasms of my heart, immune to the cold moving hands of winter. Black and beautiful on an otherwise snow white tapestry, a shade of black that’s you. May be these words like bread crumbs would lead you home.
Because where’s my home if not for you?
And you know sleep is so ever evasive now. But I remember how once I’d wake up in the middle of the night and you’d put your paw on me without even waking up.
May be this is how life left earth millions of years ago, it wasn’t the comet or the ice age but this silent rage. That not so subtle difference between what the cosmos needed and what the life wanted.
Go on little girl, there’s no star that’s too far… I will meet you again, somehow someday some place where no one knows our name.