Today is his birthday.
But no one came.
There is no happy song. No warm arms to hold him. No safe home where he can rest. There is only a cold, damp room, rusty bars, the sound of rain outside, and a small bowl of food placed in front of him with one tiny candle flickering weakly.
He sits curled in the corner, his body painfully thin, his fur wet and dirty, his sad eyes looking as if they have already cried too much.
A small sign beside the bowl says “Happy Birthday,” but somehow, this birthday does not feel happy at all.
Maybe he once had a name.
Maybe he once had a family.
Maybe there was a time when someone petted his head, called him to eat, and made him believe he was loved.
But then sickness came. His body grew weaker. His fur began to fall out. He no longer looked like the dog he used to be. And in the end, he was left in this cold place, as if the love he once had disappeared with every piece of fur he lost.
Today, the little birthday meal in front of him does not feel like a celebration.
It feels like a late apology.
An apology for every lonely night he survived.
An apology for every moment no one came sooner.
An apology for a gentle soul who had to suffer in silence.
The tiny candle trembles in the cold air.
He stares at it quietly, its weak light reflecting in his tired eyes. Maybe he does not know how to make a wish. A dog like him does not need much. He only needs a dry blanket, a warm meal, a gentle hand, and someone who will never leave him behind again.
His birthday is not filled with joy.
But please do not let it pass in silence.
Please leave him a birthday wish.
A wish for peace.
A wish for healing.
A message to remind him that he still deserves love, even though his body is weak, even though his eyes are sad, even though the world once turned away from him.
Happy birthday, little one.
May the rest of your days no longer be filled with cold rain, metal bars, and loneliness.
May someone finally see you, walk toward you, and whisper:
“You are not forgotten anymore.”
