My place to live. My job. Even the people who once promised they loved me.
I ended up sleeping outside, too anxious to fully shut my eyes at night.
One evening, while I was lying there, I noticed a dog wandering past. His tail was tucked low, his eyes darting nervously in every direction. He looked just as unsure of the world as I felt.
I tossed him a piece of bread I had been saving for myself. He hesitated, then stopped.
The next day, he showed up again.
By the third day, he curled up beside me.
Now he stays pressed close when he sleeps. If rain starts falling, he waits while I pull out the plastic sheet we use for cover. If someone yells nearby, he moves in front of me without hesitation. And on mornings when I wake up feeling worthless, he looks at me like I’m the best thing in his world.
We’re still out here. Still without walls or a roof.
But I’m not by myself anymore.
He’s the only one who hasn’t walked away.