The sting of tears

We do for them what they cannot do for themselves.
It is the Devil’s bargain we make for their love.
To end their suffering, we must also suffer.
What if, we ask ourselves.
What if we wait just one more day.
All love is torture, in the end.
We can only do so much.
And their tenth lives are our memories of them.
When others face the decision, we do not envy them.
Because we must face it ourselves again. And again.
All that remains is dust, boxes on shelves.
A collar, a beloved toy.
And the sting of tears.

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