when i die i want to come back as a dog. 

i want to come into this earth as a minuscule being, crammed in tight quarters, unsure of what to think. 

i want to see smiling faces pick me from the pack, want to feel the connection of my future family. 

i want to come home with them, curl up on their couch (i’m not allowed up there, but they can’t seem to say no to me). 

i want to go to get ice cream and play fetch in the park and smile and run and love and be loved. 

i’ll love them unconditionally, and they will do the same. 

the daughter and i will curl up at night, and while she cries, i will lick the salt from her skin and show her what true friendship means. 

i will not worry about work or drama or taxes, only the warmth of my bed and the piece of cheese that has fallen off the counter. 

i will give them 15 good years, more than they could have ever wished for, but still not enough, somehow. 

i don’t understand why they’re so upset, but i love them regardless. 

i will have made a difference just by being me, i will have learned love in a way i never could have before. 

and i will come back again, maybe as a cat, or a bird, or god forbid, a human. 

and i will love and lose and share and dream and wash, rinse, repeat it all. 

and i will love every waking moment of it.