The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat.
I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me, so we could play catch, but saw nothing but sky in my place.
I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two-year-old and examined how they were already fading.
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