the first day of the last month of autumn Charlene Behal
Content warning: This piece contains themes of grief and reference to the death of a pet. mum heated me a cup of coffee as i sat on the kitchen bench. it’s a weird thing, grieving what hasn’t been lost yet. ‘is it time?’ it doesn’t matter how it happened, it wouldn’t change the fact that i’d never see him again when i came home from work, smiling warmly at me. he’d never go for another walk again, or zoom around the backyard for no reason. he’d never put his head on my foot so that he could lie down, asking me for tummy rubs. he’d never get excited when visitors came over, wagging his tail and running around. i’d never see his sixth sense, when he knew papa was coming home before anyone else did. i’d never get to hold his face, stroke his fur, kiss his forehead, hold his paw. it wouldn’t change the fact that someone who had been there for 12 years of my life was never going to come back. how am i supposed to prepare for that? tears flowed out of me the whole day. they warmed my face and kept running. 32