20.8.11

;___;

Every time I came back, the first I'd do even before I stepped into my house was run to the back to see you padding up to me.

Everytime I left, before I go into the car, I'd go to the back to pat you and wish you goodbye; to tell you to take care of the house in my place.

Every time I go to the back window, I'd peer out and call you, watch you as you wander around in your twilight freedom, remember that once upon a time, we were young together and I could hold you in my arms.

....


I don't know why, but it's just so hard for me to get over you. I still can't believe you're gone.


Every time I look out of the window, I still expect you to be there. I still expect you to be there to welcome me back; for me to say goodbye to before I leave.