I don’t know how many days have passed since I last saw him. All I know is that he hasn’t come home, and I’ve been waiting by the door, watching, hoping for him to walk through it and call my name. His scent still lingers here—faint but familiar—reminding me of all the mornings he’d scratch my ears, all the nights he’d pull me close, and every gentle word he spoke to me. But now, it’s just silence.
It all happened so quickly. One day, he was here, smiling and calling me over to his side as he did every morning. Then, he left, and even though I thought he’d be back soon, days turned to nights, and nights back into days. At first, I waited with excitement, my tail wagging, my eyes glued to the door. I thought maybe he’d gone somewhere special and would come back with treats or toys for me. I never imagined that he’d left forever, that I’d never see him again.
The humans around me sometimes try to coax me away from the door, offering me food and even toys, but I can’t tear myself away from this spot. It’s where he last was; it’s where I feel closest to him. They tell me he’s “gone,” but I don’t understand. Gone where? Why can’t he come back if he knows I’m here waiting? I’ve stayed by the door for hours, then days, thinking if I’m just patient enough, he’ll walk through that door like he always used to.
Sometimes, I press my nose against the door, trying to pick up even the faintest hint of his scent. It’s almost as if I can feel him here with me, his hand reaching down to stroke my head. But it’s just a memory, something I hold onto because it’s all I have left of him now. When the nights grow long and quiet, I sometimes let out a low whimper, hoping he might hear me wherever he is. But only silence answers back.
When other humans come into the house, I look up, my heart racing, hoping one of them might be him. But each time, it’s a stranger or a familiar face that isn’t his, and my heart sinks a little deeper. I’ve stopped wagging my tail as much now; I’ve learned that the footsteps outside aren’t his, that the voices I hear will never be his. But still, I cannot stop waiting. It’s as if a part of me is tied to this door, bound to wait for him until the day he finally comes back.
The humans have moved his belongings, and the house feels emptier, colder, but I can’t bring myself to leave my spot. I sometimes curl up, resting my head on my paws, looking at the door with tired eyes, still holding onto the faintest glimmer of hope. I remember all the times he came through that door, the joy in his eyes when he saw me, the way he’d kneel down to greet me. It’s a feeling I crave so deeply, like the warmth of the sun on a cold day.
I don’t know if he’ll ever come back. Maybe he’s somewhere far away, and maybe he can’t return to me. But I’ll keep waiting because it’s all I know how to do. He was my person, my world, and without him, this home feels empty. So here I’ll stay, by the door, my eyes fixed forward, waiting for the day when maybe, just maybe, he’ll come back to me.
Until then, I’ll keep waiting, even if the seasons change, even if my heart grows weary. Because he was everything to me, and in my heart, he still is.
