Mochi
“Twelve summers of fetch — and still wagging on the last day.”
Mochi believed every person he met had come specifically to see him. He would wait by the window from four o'clock, and when the key turned he would make a sound like a kettle. The postman still slows down outside the house.
Pictures of Mochi, kept by the person who raised this memorial.
Whispers left here
Small messages from visitors — a candle in words. 2 so far.
I still put a little rice on the floor by accident. Old habits are made of love.
Met you once at the lake. You stole my sandwich and my whole heart.
Some things are easier to say later. Seal a letter for Mochi and choose the day it opens — it stays unread until then, even from this side of the garden.
No letters yet. The first one can be yours — a few lines for a date that does not exist yet.