Venti

Walking in 30 degree weather,

wearing shorts and sandals

in the middle of the night,

and for what?

Venti.

 His height reaches my ankle

and he’s a breed between a regular dog

and a farm animal.

But, unfortunately, is as fast as lightning.

When a door is left open,

it’s a mistake waiting to happen and

that’s what leads me here.

The odds of me finding this dog

in these conditions are as good as

a man with no tongue winning

a spelling bee.

So why am I doing this?

For one main reason.

I’ve been punched in the face,

kicked in the stomach,

survived a car crash,

broken my leg,

bruised ribs,

overcome illnesses.

No problem.

But the one thing that always hurts my heart

more than the unfaithful,

the materialistic,

and the dependent,

is the sight of seeing my sister’s face in a pillow,

soaking the sheets in her tears

and filling the room with her sorrow

because I failed her.

I’d rather freeze to death.