They Cannot Say It

My dogs cannot talk, yet somehow, they say everything.

They cannot say, “I missed you,” but they wait by the door as though my return is the best moment of their day.

They cannot say, “I love you,” but they lean against me, rest their heads in my lap, and follow me from room to room as if being close is all they need.

They cannot ask if I am alright, but somehow they know when my heart is heavy. They come closer, quietly, without questions, without advice, without judgement.

They cannot promise they will always be there, but they are. Through ordinary mornings, lonely evenings, bad days and beautiful ones, their love never seems to change.

Perhaps that is why their silence speaks so loudly.

Because love does not always need words. Sometimes it is a wagging tail, a gentle paw, a wet nose against your hand, eyes that follow you across the room.

My dogs cannot talk.

But when they look at me, I hear everything.

And if there is a language the heart understands without ever being taught, it is the language of their love.

One day, their paws may grow quiet, their footsteps may fade, and I will wish for just one more morning beside them.

But until then, I will hold them a little closer, because they may never be able to say “I love you.”

And somehow, they have spent their whole lives making sure I never doubt it.