Dog

Sometimes I dream of never meeting you. I dream of the dates I would’ve never experienced, the love thrown in the void.

Would I even know what love is without you? Would I still believe in fate, or true love?

Home is mom’s Shepard pie and ginger snaps. 

Home is the one scent you can never quite place, it appears out of nowhere to return you to age 6 on the swings yelling ‘higher grandpa, higher’ it yearns to be bottles and relived. 

My dad was a super hero. One weekend out of every month. 

The best kind of pain. Pain for what we once loved and now lost. The ability to know what it was once like is a privilege. It’s hard to quantify the feeling; the simple 1–10 chart is unreliable in this circumstance. 

I always wanted to live on a lake. Not on the shore but bobbing among the waves. I’d envision a floating device under my home and rowing to shore for groceries and parties. I’d float around town until I brought to where I needed to be.

If I was a bug I’d be a beetle. A Japanese beetle, invasive and not necessary. Nothing special to look at, just a beetle looking beetle. I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds of them without batting an eye.