My birthday, yet I am still alone on the streets, with no one to welcome me. It’s strange how something as simple as a birthday can make you feel so small, so invisible. I’ve been wandering these cold, concrete roads for as long as I can remember, searching for scraps of food, a kind word, or just a glance of someone who might care. But today is different. It’s my birthday, and no one even knows.
I’m just a stray dog, after all—my fur is dirty and matted, my paws sore from walking for miles, and my stomach growls with hunger. People walk by me every day, their eyes passing over me as if I’m nothing more than a shadow. I understand, of course. Who would notice a scruffy, unkempt dog like me when they have so many other things to think about? But today, on my birthday, I can’t help but wish that just for a moment, someone might stop and look. I long for the warmth of a gentle hand, the comfort of a kind voice. I just want to feel like I matter to someone, even for just a little while.
The sun is setting now, casting long shadows across the streets. The world around me is bustling with life—people are laughing, talking, and heading home to their families. But not me. I have no family, no home, no place where I belong. All I have is this lonely road, my only companion the sound of my own footsteps echoing in the empty streets.
I try to keep moving, but with each step, I feel a little more tired, a little more defeated. I can’t remember the last time I felt truly safe or loved. The days blur together—one after another, the same. Yet today, I thought, maybe just maybe, things would be different. Maybe today, someone would see me for who I really am—a dog who deserves to be loved, a dog who just wants a chance to belong.
But the hours pass, and nothing changes. The streets remain as empty as my heart. I find a corner to curl up in, wrapping my tail around me for warmth. I wish I could go to sleep and wake up in a place where I don’t have to feel so alone, so invisible. But I know that won’t happen. Not today. Not on my birthday.
As I close my eyes, I try to imagine what it would be like to have someone there with me, someone who would give me a scratch behind the ears, someone who would call me their own. Maybe one day, I think to myself, someone will see me—not as a stray, not as an invisible creature wandering the streets—but as a dog worthy of love.
For now, I can only hope. But even hope feels a little lonely tonight.
