My house feels empty. She’s gone. I knew she wasn’t going to be here forever, but I foolishly held onto the sliver of hope that they might change their minds, allow me to keep her. I have more that are supposed to fill the void, but it doesn’t feel the same without that black and white coat running around, barking her head off when we’re at the dinner table, and snuggling with me at night. What to do with the dog we had only for two months, with not her, but with her memory, the imprint she left on me?

I might not ever be able to get over my sorrow. Sorrow is such a word full of pain, that sorrow just means you are sad, but do we need such a sad word for the word sorrow?

All this means to me is nothing, nothing more than that I feel numb. I barely feel anything right now, and while later I will look back on this and ask what I was writing, and why I was. Nothing makes sense right now, and I just want to be left alone. Yet still I write, and forever I will write. Forever, and always, I will remember her…