in all ways, Nami.
No one would get my moods better than you do: my random decisions to stay in despite having promised to go on walks or runs, my spontaneous desires to play basketball while you run around the court, chasing birds and sunlight, you understood it all.
Remember when Chopper passed? You were stuck in my room, a result of having slid off of a ledge and spraining your ankle, and you laid your head on top of my knee as I wailed the night away. You already knew what had happened, as though you could smell sadness, feel grief, as though Chopper went to you that evening and told you, “Take care of her. She’s all you got.”
We have had plenty of dogs in the past, but no one had ever come close into becoming my favourite as you did — you were smart, you were affectionate, and even while you would run towards me when I came home you would already twist your body so you can get belly rubs from me.
I miss you, and I’m crying as I write these down.
I don’t know if now’s the right time to even write about you, or if any time even is or would be, because it hasn’t even been a week yet since I heard the news. It hasn’t even been a week yet since I frantically called my brother who you were living with and heard nothing on the phone but sniffles and wiping away of tears, and I sat on my bed crying as I listened to my brother cry with me on the other end.
It hasn’t even been a week since we gathered around a bonfire and lit candles, and mentioned memories of when you were alive, and how you brought joy to all of us in your magical way.
For 8 years, you were nothing but good to me, Nami. Good to us.
And I hope that while you were around, we gave you the best of it, too.
I love and miss you, baby. Visit me in my dreams.
Run free. I’ll see you again.
Of perpetual finds 