It still hangs there—your collar

 It still hangs there—your collar.

I see it every day when I pass by the door, and for a moment, I forget. My heart leaps before my mind catches up, whispering, “They’re gone.”

That sound—the gentle jingle of your tag—was the soundtrack of my days. It meant joy. It meant company. It meant home.

Now the silence is louder than I ever imagined. Sometimes I take the collar in my hands, running my fingers over the worn edges, tracing the letters of your name as if doing so might bring you closer again.

It smells faintly of sunshine and grass, of time spent together that I wish I could rewind. But even in the ache, there’s peace. Because this collar doesn’t just hold memory—it holds proof. Proof that love was real. Proof that we belonged to each other.

You don’t need it anymore, my sweet friend—you run now without limits, free and whole. But I’ll keep it here a little longer. Not as a relic of loss, but as a reminder that love like ours leaves echoes, not endings.

So when the light hits that empty collar just right, I smile through tears.
Because I know—
you’re still close enough to hear it jingle.