The rain falls harder today. It seeps through my fur and clings to my skin, but I don’t move. I’ve gotten used to the cold by now — it stings less than the loneliness.

People walk past with umbrellas, hurrying to warm homes and familiar faces. I stay curled up on the sidewalk, my eyes quietly begging for something I don’t even know how to ask for anymore.

Love.

I heard someone say I was beautiful once. They took a photo — said I had kind eyes. But no one came after that. No one asked about me. No one wanted me.

Maybe a picture isn’t enough.

Because what they don’t see is the way I shiver at night, not just from the cold, but from the emptiness. The way I look at every stranger hoping—just hoping—they’ll stop. That they’ll see past the wet fur, the dirty paws, and the fear in my eyes.

Stray dogs don’t just feel hunger. We don’t just feel cold.

We feel forgotten.

Still, I wait. Not because I expect anything, but because somewhere deep down, I believe someone might look at me and not turn away. Someone who sees not a stray, not a burden… but a soul.

I’m not asking for much. Just a place to rest. A voice that’s kind. A hand that doesn’t hurt. A home.

Just one glance that says: “I see you… and I care.”

Until then, I’ll sit here in the rain — not broken, but waiting.

Because even lonely hearts still dream. 🖤🐾