It's 230 am and I'm up with Chewbacca. He's having a rough night. My life just fades away in these moments. It's just me and him. I comfort him, then myself. I know the time is coming. I hug him close. He licks my face and I stare into his eyes. "Go to sleep buddy," I tell him. "I'm right here."
This is not a blog I will boost. If someone reads it okay, you've got my broken heart on the page, but this blog is just me telling you, and by you I mean myself, that I'm just so sad.
The sadness is deep. It's in my heart. Inside of it. It's in my bones. They ache with the anticipation of grief. My grief will know no bounds. I'm already preparing.
Damn it. Why does everything beautiful have to end? I know that it's because there is a pattern to all of this. A hand is drawing the story somehow. It's not my hand. I do believe. On my best days, I do. I do. I promise. So I pray. And ask for some more days. For some more good times. However short they are. For some more moments.
And then I try and go back to sleep.
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