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I don’t remember how long we had been on the island. It was just me and my person, whom I loved very much. I always told her that I loved her, but I don’t think she could understand what I was saying. It’s okay, though, because she would always tell me she loved me, too.
Every morning we would wake up and walk around to new places, and through places we’d seen a million times. Sometimes, my person will see rocks on the ground that she thinks are beautiful, and she keeps them in a jar. Usually, when I get tired and go to lay down at night, my person will go walk around a little more before she comes to lay down with me under our tent. I always wait outside the door for her.
One day, though, she never came back to the tent. Now it’s just me.
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