things i keep to myself

20.

i miss you
like a dog does when their owner leaves
scratching at the door, hoping you'd return
whining and waiting patently

it's been 3 months
still, i'm waiting at the door
getting hungry, waiting to be fed
you finally come back, but you're different

you walk straight past me
i follow you in hopes you see
you don't acknowledge me, though
i watch you as you pack up and leave

when you go for the final time
i go to my bowl, but there's no food
you forgot to feed me again, owner
but still, i wait

a neighbor stops by and finds me
noticing the vacant home
he feeds me, and i immediately start eating
but he didn't pour it the way you did

i stopped caring that he poured my food differently
cause he fed me more than you did
i felt more at home with him, and he's not as cold
unlike you, cold as winter snow

sometimes i still miss you
but it's not as bad
cause i don't have to hope for him to come back
he always does, right on time