He was still alive, but his breaths had grown soft—so soft that each one felt like a fragile whisper slipping through trembling lips. I sat beside him, my hand resting gently on his tiny back, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest. He had been my little companion, my playful shadow, my reason to smile on the hardest days. And now, as the end of his life approached, I missed him even while he was still here.
His once-bright eyes, always full of mischief and spark, now blinked slowly, heavy with exhaustion. He lifted his head just enough to look at me, and in that single glance, I felt everything—trust, love, and a quiet goodbye. His fingers curled weakly around mine, the same fingers that once pulled at my shirt, tugged at my hair, and clung to me when he was scared. Now they held on only to feel safe in his final moments.
I whispered to him, telling him he wasn’t alone, telling him how much joy he brought into my world. Memories flickered through my mind—him climbing onto my shoulder, his tiny laughter-like squeaks, the way he’d nuzzle under my chin when he wanted comfort. Every memory hit me like a wave, filling my heart with warmth and breaking it at the same time.
As the minutes passed, his breathing slowed. Still alive, still fighting, still trying to stay close. But I could feel him drifting. I pressed my forehead to his, letting him know I was there, that he could rest, that he was loved beyond anything words could hold.
When his chest gently stilled, the world felt suddenly quiet. Empty. But even in the silence, my love for him remained—soft, aching, and forever alive in every memory he left behind.
I miss him more than I can ever say.
