love you once, shame on me. love you twice....

Day 2 - Describe love as a slow-burning curse that you asked for twice.

I remember the smell of him before I remember his face.
Warm skin, soap, the faint trace of smoke. That was the scent of home.

He found me when I was small. I remember a hand reaching out and a voice saying my name for the first time. It felt like the world had noticed me. I followed him everywhere. I didn’t need to know why.

We lived quietly. He talked and I listened. I learned the rhythm of his steps, the sound of his laughter, the way his voice softened when he said my name. Every night, I slept beside his chair, where the light from the window fell across us both. I never wanted anything more.

Then one morning he took me in the car. I thought we were going somewhere new, maybe to the park or the woods. The road was long. He didn’t speak much. When he stopped, he opened the door. I jumped out. The air smelled wild and empty.

When I turned around, he was gone.

I waited until the sun went down. Then I waited through the night. The ground grew cold under me. The trees made strange noises. I waited anyway.

It took a long time to find my way back. I followed scents that faded with the rain. I crossed roads, fields, rivers that bit my legs with cold. I lost weight. I lost time. But I remembered his smell. I remembered home.

When I finally saw the house again, my heart began to race. The windows were lit. I barked. Once, twice, again.

He came to the door. He looked at me. His face didn’t change.

I wagged my tail until it hurt. I crawled closer.

He said my name. Softly. Like it was a mistake.

Then he closed the door.

I stayed outside until the lights went dark. I slept in the yard. I left when I understood he would not open it.

I don’t know how long it was before I saw him again. Long enough for the world to lose color. But one day I caught his scent on the wind. I followed it. My legs shook the whole way.

When I reached the house, something was different. I heard barking from inside. A higher sound. Lighter. I crept closer and saw him through the window.

There was another dog.

Small, golden, happy. It leapt into his arms. He laughed. I had not heard that sound in years.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I pressed my nose to the glass and watched him hold the new dog the way he once held me.

He saw me then.

He froze. His smile fell away. The golden one turned to look at me and barked once, bright and proud.

He pulled the curtains closed.

I waited for him to come out. I waited through the night again. But he didn’t.

I left when the sky began to turn gray. My paws left bloody prints in the dirt.

I do not hate him. I could not. That is not how I am made.

But when I sleep, I still dream of his hand on my head, his voice saying my name the first time. I wake up before he leaves me.

That is my curse.

He found another dog, and I am still waiting for him.

And if he called me, even now, even after everything, I would go back again.