The rain seeps into my bones. Every drop that hits my skin is a reminder that I’m alone, that the world keeps turning without me. Cold water trickles down my back, soaking my matted, heavy fur, while the damp ground beneath my paws is the only bed I know. The trembling in my body isn’t just from the cold, but from the accumulated exhaustion of days without rest or food
From the outside, I’m just a soaked dog, huddled in a dark corner. Some glance at me sideways, others don’t even turn their heads. To them, I’m just another shadow on the street, an invisible being. But inside me, there’s a voice that keeps asking: “Why did they leave me here? What did I do to deserve this?” I have no answers, only a silence that hurts more than the cold and hunger combined.
Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine someone stopping. That a door opens, that footsteps approach, and that warm hands gently wrap me up. In that dream, I hear a voice calling me by a name I’ve never had, and I feel that, at last, I belong somewhere. I imagine a bowl of clean water, a dry corner to sleep in, and the certainty that I’ll never spend another night in the rain
But when I open them, reality hits me like a ton of bricks: the rain keeps falling, the cars keep passing, and I’m still here, waiting. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s all I have left. Hope is fragile, but it’s mine. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in the next car, that person will appear who sees beyond my appearance, who hears my silence and understands that my life is worthwhile. Until then, I’ll keep staring at the road, searching in every approaching light for the promise of rescue.