On a faded sofa bed, my dad rests beside our old dog—his muzzle gray, his steps slow, his breaths soft and steady.
Once, he chased tennis balls across the yard. Now, he settles quietly at Dad’s side, their hearts beating in rhythm, their silence saying more than words ever could.
It’s not duty that keeps Dad there through the night—it’s devotion. A love that doesn’t fight against time, but fills the fleeting moments so completely they feel eternal.
Sometimes, forever is found in the rise and fall of a tired friend’s breath. ❤️
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