A while after you were gone

 A while after you were gone, someone asked me what I loved most about you.

I looked at your leash still hanging there…
like it was waiting for a walk that never came.
And before I could answer, the quiet did.

It wasn’t anything big or dramatic.
It was the everyday rhythm—
the sound of you moving through the house,
the way you leaned into me like you knew when I needed it most.
You didn’t ask for anything complicated…
you just showed up, again and again.

And somehow, in all that simplicity, you taught me how to be present too.

Now the house feels different… wider, quieter.
But the rhythm you gave me didn’t leave.
I still pause at the door. I still take the same steps.
I still listen, like you might be just around the corner.

Maybe that’s what stays.
A love that doesn’t disappear…
a love that gently keeps you going,
even when everything inside you wants to stop.