Luna
November 22, 2010—
the world didn’t know yet
what it had made.
2011—
you walked into my life
in the middle of a time
that didn’t feel like mine,
a life where I was unseen,
unloved,
quietly breaking in places
no one checked.
But you—
you saw me.
You didn’t ask questions.
You didn’t need answers.
You just chose me
like it was obvious,
like I was always worth loving.
And somehow,
I believed you.
You became my nights—
curled into my ribs,
behind my knees,
pressed into my head
like you were trying
to keep me from falling apart.
Every tear I buried in the dark,
you found it.
Every silence,
you filled it just by breathing.
You were chaos, too.
My arms still remember
your teeth—
sharp, playful, relentless.
You fought me like it was love,
like ripping my sleeves,
my hair,
my patience
was your favorite game.
And God,
I’m going to miss that.
The way you begged for food
like you’d never eaten,
then devoured everything
like it was yours first—
watermelon dripping down your face,
joy without apology.
You never ran away.
People always asked why.
But you knew.
You knew where you were loved.
Even when you knocked over the trash,
tore through my shoes,
left pieces of yourself
in everything I owned—
you stayed.
My little menace to society.
My menace.
You ate crayons
and left me rainbows to clean.
You got stuck in furniture
you destroyed yourself.
You screamed at the stairs
like they had personally offended you.
You dragged your body across the carpet
like it was your stage,
your parade,
your world.
Spunky.
Prancing like nothing
could ever touch you.
Bath time was war—
water everywhere,
you shaking life onto me
like I needed it.
And maybe I did.
You loved hard,
but not everyone—
you had your opinions,
your boundaries,
your little fierce soul
in that tiny body.
Your crooked little teeth,
your brown, gray, white coat
that never stayed where it belonged—
on you, or on me, or anywhere.
We figured it out.
Groomers gave up on you,
but I didn’t.
We figured it out together.
You were there.
I was there.
And that was enough.
You took my pain
without ever asking for it.
Held it
without ever speaking.
And somehow,
you made it lighter.
May 6, 2026—
a date I wish
didn’t exist.
You’re leaving,
and I don’t know
how to be here
without you.
But listen to me, Luna—
my baby girl,
my daughter—
don’t forget me.
Don’t forget
the nights,
the fights,
the laughter,
the mess.
Don’t forget
how much you were loved.
I hope that last chicken nugget
told you everything
I couldn’t say out loud.
You were never just a dog.
You were my light
when I didn’t have any.
And wherever you go,
I hope you run wild,
prance free,
cause a little trouble—
just enough
so the world knows
Luna was there.
And she was loved.
– love your momma, ana
