#pb.angst

On Saturday I took you to the beach,

in hopes that it would make us both feel better.

I've come to realization that we are different now.

Your fur wasn't speckled gray around your muzzle

and you never sat next to me while panting and grunting in pain

when you stand to lick my face or readjust your position.

You didn't drag your paws and hobble towards the sea.

I know each step feels like pinpricks, but you still do it for me.

You used to run around span of the whole beach.

The speckles of sand would follow you.

They'd remeber your paw prints while you pranced and danced,

waiting for me to throw the ball

The sand feels the same, grainy and hard

The air smells the same, salt and water that's too strong for my nose

The breeze feels the same, the grainy sand assaults my eyes

But we have changed.

I thought that bringing you to the beach would make me feel better.

I thought I could smooth the ache of your final days with nostalgia.

We've changed, but somehow we are still the same.