I was Thinking, or Not

This is an open letter. It was to be something else, an observation, a goodbye to Lena, and other such things, but a recent post by my less than perfect niece has prompted me to write something all together different. This is not just to her, it also continues to be to others as well, to those that may by name know me, but not by what that I have been, seen and known, time after time, after time. So more direct, my dear child, you have no right to even begin to understand who I am, as you have no idea who I was. When you were but a thought, or not a thought as the case may have been, I was in the game, and not just a casual bystander, watching and dabbling in the games, but master of the ceremonies, directing the other players, with subtlety that I fear you do not, nor from this vantage point can not understand. But this then is but a small portion of what you should expect. From the pain and suffering, earned in time, as the toll is paid. Ah, but you want not what is truth, y

The blood is slowly wearing off the seats. The smell of her breath is dissipating, or I am just used to it. There is very little to remind me of what she was, a collar, a leash, a sweater, a dish, ashes to ashes, dusty and worn memories. There are still thoughts, could I saved her, for a little while longer maybe. To provide me with comfort, but what of her, she never noticed, the pain, when I came through the door, she was the same Ginger she'd always been. Nothing touches me quite so deep, nothing hurts quite so profound, as the empty place and the wonder, could I have been, ah but that is just reasoning, nothing matters now. She is gone, and no other will ever replace her. Ginger was one of a kind, for her breed, for her behavior, for her I was everything, and she was always there. I have yet to shed a tear, but they are near when I think of Gingerkins, the G-dog, Ginger, you will always be very special to me. I truly miss the little Ginger dog, didn't think I would, but I