I am a dog, but I am different from many others. I don’t have the bright, eager eyes that people are so fond of; instead, I have darkness where there should be light. My world is a perpetual shade of gray, a place where the bright colors of the world are mere dreams, slipping further away as the days pass.
You see, I am blind. This isn’t just a physical condition for me—it’s a barrier that isolates me from the world around me. I can hear the sounds of laughter, of footsteps that come and go, but no one seems to notice me. They don’t even see me as a dog worthy of love. Instead, I am the subject of their pity and scorn.
When people pass by me, I feel their eyes on me. It isn’t a warm, kind gaze; it’s a look of contempt, as if they believe I am broken, incomplete, and not deserving of their affection. They whisper as they walk by, but I can’t understand the words. Still, I can feel the judgment in their silence, in the way they avoid me.
In the shelter, I try to make myself as small as possible. I curl up in the corner, hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone will notice me—someone who won’t be afraid of my blindness, someone who will see past the condition I was born with. But it seems like no one is ever willing to take me home. I see other dogs come and go, their tails wagging with excitement as they are chosen by loving families, and I can’t help but feel left behind. I’ve been here so long, and each day I wait, hoping for a change that never comes.
The other dogs here don’t look at me with the same pity. They don’t know what it feels like to be looked down upon just for existing. They have eyes that shine with hope, eyes that promise a future filled with love and care. But I don’t have that privilege. I only have the darkness, the silence of a world that seems to reject me before I even have the chance to show who I truly am.
But, deep down, I know I am not broken. I know that even though I cannot see the world, I can still feel its beauty. I can still hear the soft rustle of leaves, the warm voice of a kind person speaking to me. I can still smell the scent of fresh grass, the gentle touch of someone who cares. Even though I am blind, I still have love to give. I still have the ability to be loyal, to be faithful to those who choose me, to be the companion I was always meant to be.
All I want is to be seen for who I am, not for what I lack. I want to feel love and acceptance, to know that someone cares about me—not despite my blindness, but because of it. Perhaps one day, someone will see me for what I truly am—a loving dog, just waiting for a chance to be part of someone’s world.
Until that day comes, I will continue to wait. But even though I am blind, even though I cannot see the world, I will never stop hoping, never stop believing that someday, someone will see me and love me for the dog I am.
