By Giles Montgomery

It’s the heft of you I miss, nestled against my chest, making me feel so vital. You were about the same size and weight as this bag of dry food that I’m hugging in the pet food aisle of the supermarket. A young woman with purple streaks side-eyes me as she passes, no doubt on her way to buy snacks for a party where she’ll briefly mention this weird old guy she saw earlier before the conversation flows on. We got a dog to fill the absence of unconditional love, but how long do they live, anyway?

“Writing is magic.” – the writer

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