As tears run down my face and stain this paper I write to you on, I smile knowing you are chasing a deer through bushes, surfing an endless countertop filled with bread, and having your ears pet as you rest your head on lap after lap. A few months have past since I watched you laying on that mat, with an IV, holding your paw as you moved beyond this world. Since then, you have filled my dreams, often we are swimming in the lake or you are pulling me on my skateboard, but all dreams end the same way, your belly to the sky between my legs, your tongue halfway out, and your curls overwhelming my hands as I rub your belly.

The sixty-hour weekend clock had begun, the van was packed, we were eager, but understood it wasn’t enough time. It’s never enough time. Headed north from Pismo Beach, we took the PCH to the iconic, rugged coastline of Northern California, Big Sur. Leading up to us cranking the tunes and rolling down the windows to let in the ocean breeze, Big Sur had a mystical feel told to us by those who had visited.