You can’t see me anymore

 You can’t see me anymore,

but I still walk these halls.

When the night feels long and your thoughts grow loud,
that soft calm that suddenly wraps around you —
that’s me.

I know you still look toward the door,
half expecting to see my tail wag,
half hoping for the sound of paws that once followed every step.

You don’t hear them now,
but they’re there — light as air,
woven into the rhythm of your home.

When fear tries to creep in,
I stand beside you in the dark.
When sadness pulls you down,
I lean close — my love steady as before.

You once protected me from storms,
from loneliness, from hunger and harm.
Now it’s my turn.

Every shadow that falls near you holds a piece of me —
not haunting, but guarding.
Not gone, but transformed.

Because protection doesn’t end with life.
It becomes something quieter,
something eternal.

So when you catch your breath and feel peace for no reason,
know this —
it’s me.
Still watching.
Still loving.
Still protecting.