En route

I'm told he has a few weeks to live.

He's frail. And it's as if he has aged years in the two days he has spent in the clinic.

He will live out the last of his days being on a drip, force fed because of his wilted appetite, and so weak he can barely stand or even keep his eyes open.

I spent a lot of time with him, but I never really was his favourite. Most of it weren't spent in interaction or in taking care of his needs.

Every once in a while I would look at him and think to myself "I'm so lucky I have you".

It seems that like everything else, luck runs out sooner or later.

I'll go sleep now, while my parents bring him back to spend his last days here at home instead of a small cage in the clinic surrounded by strangers.

I want to see him when I wake up.