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I walk slower now…
Not because I’m tired.
But because my soul still expects you beside me.
Every walk used to belong to us.
You stopping every few feet to sniff the grass like the world was full of secrets only dogs could understand.
Me pretending to be impatient… while secretly loving every extra second with you.
Now I catch myself slowing down at the same corners.
Waiting.
Listening.
For paws that no longer touch the sidewalk.
And somehow that hurts more than words can explain.
The mornings feel different now.
Too quiet.
No excited tail wagging when I reach for my shoes.
No warm nose nudging my hand.
No happy eyes looking at me like a simple walk together was the greatest adventure on earth.
I never realized how much of my life moved at your pace.
How you taught me to notice sunsets.
To pause beneath trees.
To smile at ordinary days.
You made the world softer.
Kinder somehow.
And losing you…
It changed the rhythm of everything.
Sometimes people think grief fades all at once.
But it doesn’t.
It lives in habits.
In sidewalks.
In empty leashes hanging by the door.
In the instinct to glance down and make sure you’re still there beside me.
I still talk to you during walks sometimes.
Quietly.
Like maybe the wind carries my voice somewhere beyond the clouds.
And maybe it does.
Because every now and then… when the evening sky glows gold and pink, I feel this strange warmth wrap around me.
Like you’re running beside me again.
Healthy.
Free.
Whole.
Somewhere beyond the Rainbow Bridge, I imagine endless trails stretching across beautiful green meadows beneath glowing skies. 
And I know you’d still be stopping every few feet to sniff the flowers.
So I walk slower now.
Because love like yours leaves footprints on the soul.
And part of me will always keep pace with you.