Stay
Sit. Good boy. Pssh. What next? Should I ask you to roll over? You would, wouldn't you? You don't care that some people think they can talk to you like that. You don't hear them. I do. Is that how it's always been? It's not right. Not fair. But I know life isn't fair, I know it better than most people. I guess you do too. And I had no idea. You don't act like this normally. You don't let on how much you understand. Just like me, except people expect it of me. I had to get close to you, under the fur, under the skin, under the smile. I had to dig deep enough to find the serious you, the you who's remembered everything, the you who does hear the jokes at your expense, the you who cries sometimes at night. Like I do. The only thing that's different is you are just one you. Not a million like me. And your smile is real. Every single tooth of it. And what makes it real is that you're happy. You grew up thinking life was happy. I grew up thinking death was happy. That's what they said. That's how they perverted it all. Mom's. Uncle's. Everyone. They made it okay. So I'm over it. But I had to sacrifice my smile. And all you get is a fake. Some people think that's all you deserve. Think you're stupid. Rash. All talk. Over zealous. And sometimes you are. But that's because you're real and that's why I need you, so I can be real too instead of being what everyone else wants me to be. All you've ever wanted is that I be myself. And every time, I get my smile back a little. So I'm not going to tell you sit or good boy or roll over. I ask only one thing. Stay.