Among piles of filthy garbage, the dog huddles together, trying to blend into the shadows. The pungent smell seeps into every breath, and the cold, clinging to his skin, accompanies him like a second layer. Even so, his eyes do not give up: they shine with a timid light, like a candle in the wind. He looks to the sides, toward where sometimes quick footsteps pass, brief voices, figures that do not stop. In each one, he seeks the miracle of a pause, a gaze that truly sees him
He has learned to move slowly, to gauge the distance from people so as not to suffer another rejection. Too many times a hand was raised not to comfort, but to push him away, to drive him away. But deep in his chest, a simple desire still beats: to feel a touch that doesn’t hurt, a caress that says, “Here you are safe.” In his mind, the image is clear: a hand lifting him from this corner, pulling him out of the endless night and the hunger that gnaws from within, replacing fear with a calm whisper.
The hours pass slowly, marked by the rustling of bags and the distant murmur of a city that seems to have no place for him. Each dawn, however, is a small victory: he opens his eyes and hope stubbornly reignites. He imagines a clean floor, a bowl of water, a name spoken tenderly. He imagines falling asleep without a start, waking up without having to hide. He doesn’t ask for much; just a corner where his heart stops squeezing with loneliness
Perhaps, tomorrow, that hand will reach out. Perhaps, amidst the noise and indifference, someone will appear who sees beyond the filth and emaciation, who recognizes in his eyes the silent plea of one who only wants to live. Until then, he will continue waiting with his head bowed and his eyes open, tending to that spark that refuses to die. Because, as long as there is a possibility of being loved, even a dog among the garbage can stand tall and believe.