October 18, 2018 and the dog is gone.
He doesn't receive us when we arrive.
There is no barking when the motorcycle passes by.
His house sits empty at his sleeping spot.
His pillow doesn't smell like him anymore.
I have forgotten how he smells, but if I smell it again I know I would recognize it as his scent right away.
I don't get unconditional love anymore.
I don't see a wagging tail and joy when I go home.
I have this crazy idea that maybe one day when I die he'll wait for me at the end of a rainbow.
YOU ARE READING
Brain
PoesíaA glimpse of what happens in my head. It is a bilingual (spanish/english) book; some poems will be in english, others in spanish.
