I remember the cold first.
It didn’t just touch me — it slipped beneath my fur and made a home inside my bones.
The ground was hard and unforgiving against my fragile body.
I don’t know how long I had been alone.
Time wasn’t days or nights anymore — it was just endless waiting.
Each step sent a quiet ache through my paws.
So I stopped moving.
Stillness hurt less than hope.
The air smelled empty — sharp, lifeless.
Cars rushed past.
People walked by.
No one looked down.
Hunger clawed at my belly every hour.
My throat felt dry, like forgotten dust.
I cried once — soft, barely a sound.
No one answered.
After that, I swallowed my pain.
I am gentle. I am loving.
But the world felt cold and distant.
I curled my tail around myself,
tried to shrink smaller and smaller —
because small felt safer.
Nights were the hardest.
Darkness made every sound heavier.
Every shadow felt like danger.
Fear grew louder than my heartbeat.
I waited.
I always waited.
Sometimes I dreamed of warmth.
Of a soft bed.
Of kind hands that didn’t hurt.
But I always woke up trembling.
My heart wasn’t just tired —
it felt broken in places no one could see.
Yet somehow…
it was still beating. 🐾
