Curl up at the edge of the bed, like a devoted dog. A blanket that laid on the floor of a Dusty closet above me. The smell of fresh paint tickles my nostrils. I feel sick, congested, my feet dried by this white dust. I run away, into this car at my disposal. Winding through familiar streets with unfamiliar stores. I see rows of cars, but a spot in front and within minutes a taste I've craved for over a year. The best bagel in the world and for a few bites I'm relieved. Later that day, a walk, leash extended, but he halts, maybe sensing my agony. The simple pleasure of walking a fog brings pain shooting down my side. I whince and he stares back. We return up the stairs and he waits, he looks confused or is it concerned. We both drink. I collapse on the couch. Everything hurts and all he wants is to play. We play and I go to stand, falling back down. He surrenders his toy and joins me, his head resting on my thigh. He will occasionally glance up, but he's aware of my limits and I'm aware of his love. Or maybe he's just like the others, just happy with what I can give, for so little in return. I'll pretend it's love.
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