The elephants dance on the wall. With the lions. That’s all I have to write. Glancing through the thick glass, the sun shines down on places I haven’t been. Where I long to go. The woods. The lake. A book, I love to read. One time I thought I’d be a writer. No more. But I’m writing words now. At home it’s easier to count the breaths amongst the dishes crashing into metal crate doors, and the the whines of my four-legged “children” who just want to be with me. With anyone. Just to be a dog, to have no care in the world, but to live in the moment. Although… the crimson one, he remembers the past. Being beaten. He remembers when there is a board for some project sitting next to him, or a leather leash held too close. He remembers. It could only be the conditioning of, “When I see an object I give you this response.” Either way, certain things makes him cower. Another time, another family. Haileigh doesn’t flinch. She’s never had a hand laid on her, in anything but gentleness.
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