I don't pray much, but suddenly I feel the need to.
I pray that he'll be fine and will run again.
I pray that he'll yearn for the weekly vanilla ice cream the way he used to.
I pray that he'll run to the door everytime he knows someone's back home.
I pray that he'll jump back on to the bed in the middle of the night, to snuggle between the sisters.
I pray that he'll run down the driveway and into the lift after his regular walk, the way he used to.
I pray that he'll live his full life, so I can repay him for everything that he's taught me.
Most of all, I pray that he doesn't suffer, because he deserves none of it.
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