A song I one heard summed it up. “Time goes by as fast as a melody.” That's what the lyrics were. I never believed this or actually felt the effects of it; time I mean, but when I look at that dark, red, stained, cherry wood box above my fire place the feeling of time overwhelms me. Time is so cruel, yet fair at the same time. It never picks and chooses who dies, but it simply proceeds. Continuing to grow and grow, but why is time shorter for some of us?

“It's because they love so much that they use up all of their heart in such a short time. They don't know hate, and that is why they die so soon. They love us to death, but they're the ones dying. Not us,” That's what she said as she look up at me from the ground. She is on her knees, her hand grasping a furry paw. Tears are a rushing river, her blue eyes are the waterfall. Sweat pants around her legs; she got ready in haste, and an over sized, mans, t-shirt is what her torso swims in.

His eyes were not closed when I looked at him, so I closed them; ran my hand down his face, my palms grazed his eye lids, shutting them. They weren't really his eyes though, just lifeless, abandoned windows; however, not that abandoned. He was still alive; just sleeping. That is what the veterinarians told us at least. He did not seem alive, regardless of what the veterinarians said, but with that tinge of information, that tinge of life, I still had a hope deep down. It was a childish hope, one that is very unrealistic and it was the hope that perhaps he will wake up out of this sedative induced sleep. Perhaps he will rise to his feet, and overcome the cancer in his hips, and walk toward his leash and beg me to walk him. I would not be able to resist his face so I would inevitably walk him; not far, he could not handle a far walk, but a walk nonetheless, where he could sniff the grass, roll around and eventually look up at me with his deep, human-like eyes. Our eyes would make contact and I would cry because I have my dog, my best friend, and my brother back.