Words Left Along

 I wish I knew what it was exactly that fires in my brain—specifically, the thing that fires when a creature who loves you with their whole being follows you to your place of relaxation and struggles to keep their eyes open, just to lose the fight and fall into the deepest, light slumber.

A peaceful sleep that fills the air with the sounds of scrunched-nose snoring. To look over at their face and see the tranquility that is the safety you and this place bring.

I’m sitting here at my desk writing this as I look at my adopted boy, Yuki, lying at my office doorway, sleeping with this peace. His eyes make black lines on a fluffy, white, pillowy head. His pink nose and ears give him an innocence that can only be given to a creature you could never hate.

His legs, half tucked and half out, reveal his worn, calloused, oval pads, which, against the background of his coat, show an almost cartoonishly accurate depiction of a dog print.

I don’t know, and I am at a loss for words on what it is, but this—this moment, his peace, his presence—that is why I wake up. That is why I don’t leave this world yet.

I live for moments like these. My heart burns with love and joy when I can see the impact my love has on something. I can see that my love is loved, and I am loved.

Love for love. Peace in place. Creature to creature. Stillness and sanctity.