Fur
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I found your fur on me today.
Remnants of life, in the absence of you.
You used to leave fur everywhere.
A permanent speckle of orange on all of my black clothes.
But it wasn’t permanent, was it?
Our time together was fleeting, wasn’t it?
I miss the feeling of burring my face in your fur, as we napped together. Such a beautiful show of the trust and affection, in our strange little symbiotic companionship.
I use the lint roller less and less, since you’ve been gone… and I lament for it.
I wonder when I’ll stop finding your fur.
I hope it is never.
I hope you haunt me in the form of little orange hairs.
Little strings of sunset light, leading back to you.
Little pieces of you that refuse to die.
Maybe it’s all the loss I’ve been dealt lately, and the depression I’ve spiraled into. Maybe under different circumstances I would be okay by now, and finding your fur would not phase me. But this is my reality.
Right now, your fur means everything to me.
Please let it keep finding me. Please stay with me, if only in the smallest wisps of a way…
What if........you collected something of a keepsake from your fur baby? It could be a ritualistic preservation of the love that will never die between you two. A small vial or medium that will let you collage or amalgamate those little strips of light? As well as other reminders of the relationship you have with a beautiful, orange furball who is never truly, completely gone.