The Last Time I Threw the Stick It was just an ordinary day — nothing suggested that everything was about to change.
Luna ran after the stick as always — fast, happy, full of life. Her fur shone in the afternoon sun, and I smiled as I watched her. But this time, she didn’t come back.

The moment I realized something was wrong felt like falling into emptiness. I called her name again and again until my voice broke. I ran across the meadow, into the forest, through every place we had ever been together. And the longer I searched, the more I knew — I wouldn’t find her.

Luna was more than just a dog.
She was the soul of my home, the calm within my chaos, the silent witness to all my joy and pain. She understood me without words. One look, one breath, one small gesture — that was all it took. She always knew.

Every morning, she sat by my bed, waiting for me to wake up. Every night, she fell asleep beside me, her head resting on my leg, peaceful and content.
And now? Now there is only silence. Heavy, sharp, and endless.
Her leash hangs by the door like a silent memory. Her bowls stand empty. The house that once breathed with life has turned into a hollow space.

Sometimes I still think I hear her — the sound of her paws tapping softly on the floor, the faint snort as she pushes her toy toward me. But when I turn around, there’s nothing there. Just stillness. Just absence.

People tell me: “She was just a dog.”
Just a dog?
No. She was a part of my heart.
Those who say that have never known what true loyalty feels like — quiet, unconditional, and pure. Luna loved without words, without limits, without demands.

When she left, something inside me broke. Not suddenly, but slowly — like glass cracking, letting the light seep through. And in that light, I still see her. Running through the grass, ears flying, eyes shining. Free. Happy. Eternal.

Her collar still lies on the table. A few of her hairs remain tangled in the blanket — I refuse to clean them away. Her scent is faint but still there, a reminder that she existed, that she breathed, that she loved me.

They say time heals everything.
But it doesn’t.
Time only teaches you how to live with the pain so it doesn’t destroy you.

I don’t want to forget.
I don’t want Luna to become just a memory.
I want her to remain a part of me — in every breath, every tear, every beam of light that passes through my window.

Luna, my angel, my shadow, my friend.
You didn’t vanish into darkness — you went into light.
And I believe that one day, I’ll throw the stick again, and you’ll come back.
Maybe not here, but somewhere — where souls meet again without pain, without end.

Until that day, I’ll wait.
Not in haste, but in faith.
Because love — true love — never dies.
It only changes form. It becomes air, light, memory.

And when the wind brushes against my face, I’ll know it’s you.
My eternal friend.
My Luna.