Self-indulgent Poem

I worry that when my dog lets out a

big, dramatic sigh,

the way dogs often do,

that he's sighing because of me.

Because of something I've done, some mistake I've made,

moving too much or too quickly,

making too much noise.

I worry that he finds me an inconvenience.

 I worry that I'll love him like I love my books.

His books will be well-loved and well-read but still well-cared for,

not like my books.

I read them too much, too violently,

I bend the spines,

I fold the corners,

highlight my favourite passages,

tear out my favourite pages.

I love them too much,

become too attached,

too enthralled,

too reliant.

I rely on them so much I wear them down,

I rely on them to the point that I destroy them

I rely on them like I rely on him to have nice books, cared for books,

looked after books.

I worry that I will destroy him.

I worry that when I sigh my dog worries that it's because of him.

Something he's done,

moved too much or too quickly,

made too much noise.

I want to tell him that it's not,

but I know firsthand that

that never helps.

I worry that I'll break him,

wear him down, bend the spine,

fold the corners,

cover him in pen and highlighter, tear out my favourite pages.

I worry that I will make him unintelligible, unusable,

unreadable.

I worry that's what love is,

to break and bend something beyond repair,

that to love and be loved it to

break and be broken.

He tells me my books aren't broken,

aren't damaged,

only changed.

He says that's what love is,

he says to love and be loved is to change and be changed.

He tells me he'd give me anything I want.

He tells me to tear out my favourite pages.

I worry that when my dog sighs he worries that I worry that it's because of me.

I want to tell him that it's alright,

that I don't mind,

that I understand, that I know nobody can always be convenient.

But I can't.

It wouldn't be true.

And even if it was, 

it wouldn't help.

I know it wouldn't help.

I worry that I'll kill my dog in the night,

that I'll roll over and crush him and kill him in the night.

Logically I know that he would move,

that he would wriggle and bark and

wake me up or just break free on his own

before I ever could,

but still,

I worry that I'll kill my dog in the night.

I will never be able to sleep next to another person.

Next to him.

He could tell me anything,

he could tell me to kill him in the night,

he could tell me to roll over and crush him and kill him in the night,

but he'd have to do it from across the room,

he'd have to do it from a separate bed.