Things That Fall | L.S.

Your Teardrops

𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼

Do you remember Dolly?

The small homeless dog we used to pet when we'd take a walk around the neighbourhood.

She was a small, skinny black dog. So friendly. And you always felt bad about not having dog food to bring her. So we'd give her attention and touches, and pretty words. You talked to her like she was yours. And perhaps she thought "Maybe today he'll take me." But we couldn't take her.

She was always by that abandoned light blue house. The one that was half burned. She sat in front of the white gate, and every car that passed by made her look up.

I know it's sad, but remember the story I made up?

Maybe she used to live in that house. Maybe her owners lived there. Maybe the fire took their lives and only she survived. And maybe she doesn't understand where her owners went.

You told me to shut up because your eyes were watering and my heart was also clenching but I just said, "It was just a thought. Maybe that's not what happened."

But it's still sad cause she is homeless.

Sometimes we would sit by her and just talk. And we would make her part of the conversation, trying to find if she has a favourite word. We'd mention Treats, we'd say Walk, we would shout Cat. But she just looked at us with her tongue out and wagged her tail. We couldn't find her favourite word.

You named her Dolly because her big brown eyes reminded you of a doll.

She was a true doll. Such a pretty and good dog.

It was a Sunday evening when we went on a walk after not being able to during the week. And when we rounded the corner and noticed the blue house with no black dog laying in front of the gate, we turned to each other with many things going through our minds.

Did someone take her?

Did she walk further away?

Did she die?

I know you dreaded walking closer, your steps were heavy and you were breathing heavily. Part of me was repeating "Please show up, please show up, please show up." Just, magically appear, please.

We stopped in front of the gate, looking around. You looked inside the house, maybe she walked past the gate? And I looked around because maybe she walked to the other corner. But there was no sign of her.

You were already making your way to silently leave back from where we came from when I noticed something like a shadow near the edge of the sidewalk a bit further down.

A trash bag?

Dolly?

I didn't want to let you know but Dolly was familiar to us. We at least needed to know.

So I pulled you by the arm and pointed. I couldn't find the words.

And when your breath hitched. I knew that maybe the second thought is correct.

She wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing. She was laying, gone, peaceful. We couldn't figure out what caused her death. She didn't look physically hurt. Maybe that's better than seeing her got ran over. You said she was too skinny, maybe it was starvation.

But we sat there, a bit further from her body, just looking down at the street and letting the tears roll down. What else could we do? I comforted you. I let you know she's better now.

We buried her the next day in the morning. There was a bit of land next to the house she lay in front of. And we decided she should stay there.

I don't know why I'm thinking back on this. It might have been painful, but I think our love for a dog that wasn't ours is very beautiful. The beautiful Dolly will always be remembered.

𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼𓄼