I never knew silence could be so loud

 I never knew silence could be so loud.

When you were here, it was always the little sounds that filled my days—the click of your nails on the floor, the gentle sigh as you curled beside me, the thump of your tail when I said your name. I didn’t realize how deeply those sounds had stitched themselves into my world until they were gone.

Now, the house is quiet. But some nights, when the air is still, I hear it again—the faint rhythm of your paws padding through the hall, soft as a heartbeat. And I know it’s not imagination. It’s love. It’s memory finding a way to speak.

You were the sound of home, the music of comfort, the soft percussion of unconditional love. And though time has dulled the noise, the melody remains.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I hear you running free—paws against clouds, laughter in the wind, joy echoing across heaven’s fields.

One day, when I cross that bridge, I know what I’ll hear first.
The sound of your paws running toward me.
Home again. Forever.