Your bed lies empty by the door. I don’t have the heart to move it. I try…oh, I try. But if I do, it means you’re really gone.

You can’t be really gone.

The silent air suffocates me. Air that once carried the pitter patter of warm puppy paws across the floor boards, the clanging of dog tags as you’d stretch and shake a long night’s sleep off each morning, now sits cold and still.

It’s hard to breathe.

Your bowls have been washed and dried, sitting quietly, needlessly in the cabinet. Waiting. Use me. Need me. But now, they sit empty.

Your leash waits by the door. Let’s go on a walk, it begs. But our final walk has been walked. Oh, how I wish we could go. Your footsteps echo through the halls. Just one more walk, they cry.

Just one more walk.

Your bag of treats sits…