An Ode To A Beloved Companion
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It's been three years, and I still miss your quiet footsteps beside me as we walk down the beach. That stupid grin you'd throw back to me as you raced ahead to let me know, yeah I'm still here, but do you see how fast I can run?
Your tail wags conducted my heart beats. We were always so in sync.
I still expect to see you every journey that brings me home and am disappointed with every front door opening that fails to reveal your smiling face.
I know my grief is not rational, that I've moved into some sort of realm where this is absurd but I can't help it -- I just want to see you again.
I've been thinking that maybe Christmas is hard because it reminds you of the things you want the most but can never have. One more day -- not even that. Just one more walk down the beach.
I think of you so often.
Dear Samantha,
Can you feel my heart woven into yours? I remember holding you in those last moments reassuring you that it was ok for you to die now. Go, rest in peace. It's okay for you to leave me.
My most selfless hours. But how can your peace be restful when now, I'd utter just about anything to bring you back... Were you watching as I had to edit the present tense verbs out of this like crazy? To me, you still aren't gone. You are still here, breathing, running, watching, hidden from some secret post waiting for me to find you.
The beach grass has receded further and the tides swing larger, but they are still here. The sea glass comes and goes but still needs collecting. The cabinet in the bathroom still smells like dogfood every time I open it. But where have you gone?
I walk the beach expecting you to return to my side, but still you aren't there. My heart calls for you, but all I find is broken bits of glass scattered across the sand. The universe mocks my grief with shooting stars suggesting that I could wish you back. But all the birthday candles I've blown out are a poor reminder of the long years without your calming presence my side.
All those times you ran off on your own adventures and now you're on the biggest one of all. I hope you find what you are looking for.
Your tail wags conducted my heart beats. We were always so in sync.
I still expect to see you every journey that brings me home and am disappointed with every front door opening that fails to reveal your smiling face.
I know my grief is not rational, that I've moved into some sort of realm where this is absurd but I can't help it -- I just want to see you again.
I've been thinking that maybe Christmas is hard because it reminds you of the things you want the most but can never have. One more day -- not even that. Just one more walk down the beach.
I think of you so often.
Dear Samantha,
Can you feel my heart woven into yours? I remember holding you in those last moments reassuring you that it was ok for you to die now. Go, rest in peace. It's okay for you to leave me.
My most selfless hours. But how can your peace be restful when now, I'd utter just about anything to bring you back... Were you watching as I had to edit the present tense verbs out of this like crazy? To me, you still aren't gone. You are still here, breathing, running, watching, hidden from some secret post waiting for me to find you.
The beach grass has receded further and the tides swing larger, but they are still here. The sea glass comes and goes but still needs collecting. The cabinet in the bathroom still smells like dogfood every time I open it. But where have you gone?
I walk the beach expecting you to return to my side, but still you aren't there. My heart calls for you, but all I find is broken bits of glass scattered across the sand. The universe mocks my grief with shooting stars suggesting that I could wish you back. But all the birthday candles I've blown out are a poor reminder of the long years without your calming presence my side.
All those times you ran off on your own adventures and now you're on the biggest one of all. I hope you find what you are looking for.
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