/lit/ - Literature

>>19223171
PART 2/2

I am the anon who just a few weeks write on one of these threads about my dog dying. I think about him often. Daily in fact. But even time takes that from me. Each day I look at the same picture of him. Each day he is less my dog. The first thing my wife and I every raised. A dog that kept us company in a space that he hated, far from people we knew and loved. Yet, he loved unconditionally. His deterioration from animal to pile of ashes only further affirms the lack of existence that I now walk. He isn’t here any longer than he was. His atoms now burned to their core elements vibrate in a box a few feet away. Yet, mud from my backyard would be teeming with more life than that ugly blue tin.

If this crush of my psyche continues, I’ll be lucky to make it to old age.

The stars now mock through my window, time for more whiskey. Maybe this will slow time just a little. Just for tonight.

If you made it this far thanks for reading my ramblings. This weighs on my mind daily.