I can feel it in my bones, in the way my body moves—or rather, doesn’t move. The aches are constant now, and the energy I once had, the playfulness that made my tail wag furiously, is slipping away with each passing day. Sometimes, when I wake up from a nap, I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep, or if I’ve been asleep at all. Time has become blurry. I am old. My body is tired. And yet, here I am, still holding onto life, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, a miracle could come my way.

For so long, I was strong. I remember the days when my legs carried me with such ease, when I could chase after my favorite ball for hours, and when my eyes would light up whenever I saw my human. They always made me feel like I was the most important creature in the world. I was loved, and I loved them right back, unconditionally, as only a dog can.

But now, I am here, with my head resting on the soft rug in the corner of the room, watching my human move around the house. Their footsteps are slower these days, just like mine. Sometimes I catch them looking at me with sad eyes, and I know they’re thinking the same thing I am: that I don’t have much time left. They are always gentle with me, making sure I have water to drink, food to eat, and a warm place to sleep. They comfort me in ways I can’t even explain. But sometimes, I see the fear in their eyes. Fear of losing me. And I wonder—if they’re scared of me leaving, does that mean they still need me? Can I stay with them a little longer?

I’m not ready to go. Not yet. There are so many more walks I want to take, so many more moments I want to share with my human. I want to feel the sun on my fur again and hear the birds singing in the trees. I want to chase after that ball one more time and see the joy in my human’s eyes as they throw it for me. But my body is failing me. It’s harder and harder to get up, and the pain sometimes makes it feel like I’m stuck in a never-ending storm. Still, I try to move. I try to wag my tail, even if it’s slower than before. I want them to know that I’m still here, still with them, even if my body can’t keep up.

The days pass slowly now, and I can tell that my human is trying to hold on to every moment we have left. They hold me close, whispering sweet words in my ears, telling me how much I mean to them. I hear the tears in their voice, and I want to tell them that it’s okay, that I’m not afraid. But the words are stuck in my throat. I can only show them with my eyes, with the way I nuzzle against them, letting them know that I’m still here, still love them as much as ever.

I wish there was more I could do for them. I wish I could chase away their fears, ease their sadness. But all I have to give now is the comfort of my presence, the warmth of my body curled beside them on the couch. I don’t know what happens after this life ends. I don’t know if there’s some big, beautiful place where dogs like me go, but I do know one thing: I don’t want to leave them just yet. I want to stay, to make sure they know that I will always be in their heart, no matter where I go.

I sometimes dream of a miracle—a miracle that would let me live a little longer, let me stay by their side, running alongside them through the grass, my tail wagging happily. But I also know that miracles don’t always come, and maybe this is just the way things are meant to be. Maybe I’ve lived my life to the fullest, given everything I could, and now it’s time to rest.

But still, I can’t help but ask—is there any miracle left for me?

Could I have one more day of sunshine? One more walk in the park? One more moment of happiness with my human? I don’t know if there’s a miracle waiting for me, but I’ll keep hoping, as long as I have the strength.

I know that when the time comes for me to go, my human will be there by my side, just as they always have been. And though I won’t be able to chase the ball anymore, or take another walk, or jump up to greet them with the same enthusiasm as before, I hope they know that I will be with them in spirit, watching over them, always.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to run free again, somewhere beautiful, where there are endless fields and no more pain. But for now, I’m here. And in this moment, I can still feel their love. That is all that matters.