I remember precisely the day I held you in my shaking hands, with all the 

        might my 7-year old heart could muster. 

The spring sun kissed my skin as if to try

to calm me and held us both in its embrace. 

But even then, my nerves would not subdue; 

I was taught to be wary of dogs, to avoid their violent ways. But here you were, completely challenging my beliefs, 

Small and wrapped in a rough white towel, staring up at me with confused eyes. 

I am as scared as you are, I thought. You made an attempt to free yourself from my childish grasp, 

And I let you go. 

Without any warning, 

I was ten, and awkwardly, I grew as much as you did. 

Your growth startled me, and whenever I’d watch you from afar, I’d ask myself what was done to allow you to age so 

quickly. 

And I still never really understood you. 

You’d run unexpectedly towards anyone who approached you, excited to meet the world. 

You were fearless. 

You’d run near my presence, and I would shrink back into my comfort. 

Not me. I am still as scared as I used to be, I thought. 

And I let you go. 

The summer starting my teenage years, 

I was asked to take care of you. 

I’d be there, sitting on the concrete step I once stood on to hold you, 

But times were different and so were we. 

So I’d cry about everything and you’d lay your head on my lap and sleep. 

I met your tired eyes and noticed the way time seemed to show itself on your body. 

You no longer ran after the unknown, you rather found yourself content with sitting and watching the day go by. 

You did this more and more and I became fearful. 

I am as scared as you are, I thought 

Life is making its attempt to take you from my arms. 

And I couldn’t let you go. 

So when I hear the dogs of the city cry at this time of night, 

I imagine a distant world that could’ve been, 

A time where I was not afraid, 

I am not scared, I would think 

And you’d make your attempt, but I’d hold you tighter. 

And I wouldn’t let you go.