Some might say that sentiment is a defect of our thoughts; that we should not try to latch on to and keep hold of what has already come and gone. They might say that whatever it is, has already served its purpose.
For the most part, I would agree.
Everything is easier when we don’t think about what we’ve already done. It does not mean that we shouldn’t learn from our mistakes, it simply means that we should keep moving forward, and not try to stick ourselves back into the past.
So it is sentiment, then, that keeps me writing this post, because it has been a while now, a few years, since this particular event occurred, and I am simply, defectively, unable to release it.
Many people say that life is a journey, or in this case, allow me to use a description to help move us along.
Many say that life is like a train ride.
There are many stops on the way, and many new people enter the carriage that is your life. There are some relative constants; parents, siblings, relatives, but there is one constant that, to me, most travellers forget about.
It is your pet.
It doesn’t matter if you had a healthy, vivacious white cat or a sickly puppy while growing up. It is my belief, that having a pet teaches one to care for something, someone, other than oneself. I’ve heard of many who’ve said that their pets keep them company when they cry, hear the complaints that they have, and snuggle when they need someone to hug.
They show us love even when we don’t return the favour, and even if it isn’t love, it is a feeling quite similar to it.
I had a dog growing up. She was a sickly puppy, and the person who gave her to me tried to give me her healthier, more robust, brother, but I refused. I took the puppy who couldn’t walk right for days after her brother was scampering clumsily around the house, and I grew up alongside it.
When she … left, it was similar to the train slowing down, the lights in the carriage flickering uncertainly, and every other passenger suddenly becoming a complete stranger. It felt like the train was a second away from crashing head-first into a barrier, but then I realised later, that the train was merely making another stop.
And at this stop, my little light got off.
I knew … know … that if I got off the train, I won’t be allowed back on. And oh, how I tried to get that train moving again.
It’s been almost three years now, and every time I remember her white-and-brown fur, the train threatens to crash again.