“I know I’m not perfect… but I still believe someone will see my worth.”

She tells herself this every day, even when no one stops to look.

At the back of the shelter, curled up in the corner of a cold kennel, she waits. Not with excitement, but with a quiet ache — the kind that comes from being overlooked one too many times. Her fur is thin, her body frail, and her eyes carry more sadness than most hearts can bear. She doesn’t wag her tail when people pass by anymore… not because she doesn’t want love, but because hope, for her, feels like a luxury.

Once, she had a home. A name. Maybe even a bed to curl up in. But life was cruel, and now all she has are the scars — the ones on her body, and the ones no one sees.

She hears laughter from the front — the kind people reserve for puppies, for perfect coats and wagging tails. But she doesn’t fit in that picture. She’s “damaged,” they say. “Too old.” “Too broken.”

But what they don’t see is the strength it took to survive. The softness still hiding in her heart. The way she would give every ounce of love left in her if someone just gave her a chance.

She doesn’t ask for much. Just someone to stop. To kneel down. To see her — not the bones, not the sadness, not the past.

Just her.

Because she still believes that love doesn’t ask for perfection. It asks for connection. And in her silent, tired eyes, that belief burns like a flicker in the dark.

One day, maybe, someone will walk by and truly see her.

And on that day, she won’t say a word.

She’ll just press her head into their hand… and finally feel what it means to be wanted again.