When the house fell silent

 When the house fell silent, I finally understood what love leaves behind.

No jingling tags.
No paws on the hardwood floor.
No bark to greet me at the door.
Just quiet. Heavy, aching quiet.
I sit on the couch and wait for you to jump up beside me… but the cushion stays empty. I glance at the door, half-expecting you to appear… but it never opens. Even the nights feel colder now, without your steady breathing curled at my side.
But silence, I’m learning, isn’t just absence. It’s also memory.
In the hush, I hear you still.
The rhythm of your paws. The softness of your sigh. The way you filled this house with joy.
And though my heart breaks in the stillness, I hold onto this:
The silence is not forever.
One day, on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, I will hear you again.
Your collar jingling. Your paws running to me. Your love filling all the empty spaces.
Until then, this quiet is where I keep you.
Not gone.
Just waiting.