When the house goes still and the quiet

 When the house goes still and the quiet gets heavy, sleep becomes the one place I still get to find you. Somewhere between drifting off and waking, you're just there — the way you always were. Tail going, eyes bright, whole and happy and mine.

We do all the old things. Run the same paths. Rest in the same light. I hold you close and for that small stretch of time, nothing is missing. I laugh the way I used to, because you're still my joy, still my calm, still the most constant thing I've ever known.

Then morning arrives and I open my eyes to the empty space beside me. But I carry the dream forward — through every quiet hour of the day. I miss those ordinary moments more than I'll ever find the right words for. But in my dreams, I get to live them again. With you. And I hope wherever you are, you feel every bit of that love finding you each night too.