Goodnight, my angel

 Goodnight, my angel.

I used to whisper it every evening, my hand resting on your head, feeling the rhythm of your breath slow as you drifted to sleep. You always sighed that little sigh—the one that said, “I’m safe. I’m home.”

Now the house feels too quiet. I still say the words, but the room doesn’t echo with your soft snore or the sound of your paws twitching in a dream. The space where you slept is empty… yet somehow full. Full of memory. Full of love. Full of you.

I like to believe that somewhere beyond clouds and stars, you hear me still. That when I whisper “goodnight,” it finds its way to you—carried on the wind, glowing in the starlight, landing softly beside you where you rest in peace.

Maybe you lift your head for a moment, tail wagging in the glow of Heaven’s meadow, before curling back up to dream again. Maybe, in your dreams, I’m there too—walking beside you, just like we always did.

So sleep well, my angel.
I’ll meet you in dreams, in whispers, in every quiet night that falls between us.
And someday, when my own eyes close for the last time, I know the first thing I’ll hear will be that sigh again—the sound of peace, of reunion, of forever.

Goodnight, my angel. Until morning comes.