Hurting You Is In My Nature

You might never know a love greater than that from a dog. He trusts, protects, and is waiting at the door always. Yet you pretend to throw his bone, faking him out. Confuse him, watching him spin himself around, as he grows dizzy. His tilted head and wet eyes staring at you. You know if he could speak he would be asking, “How?” He would be asking, “Why?”

He trusted you, and why shouldn’t he? You’ve always been there for him. Because he’s always been there for you. Yet, there you stand laughing. You throw your head back and play along as if you don’t know where his bone went. But you hold it there behind your back – you grip it with white knuckles and think about nothing in particular.

This is you. This is you finding joy in the hurt. You, the master. You, loving him back but becoming comfortable in the absolute worst meaning of the word. Him, the dog. Him, seemingly weak and simple-minded. You no longer feel the need to be nice. Because he will love you either way. He’s blinded by love and your harsh jabs at him are just seen as another form of love. His only crime was loving you too much.

There’s power in not caring. There’s love in the hurt.

Maybe now you understand why hurricanes are named after people.