The peanut butter has been scraped from the bone’s hollow center, leaving only the ghost of what was.

I work my tongue deeper into the marrow cavity, finding nothing but the memory of salt and oil. The bone itself remains. White, dense, uncompromising, but its purpose feels suddenly unclear. What is a bone without its treasure? What am I without the reaching?

The afternoon light falls differently today. Grayer. The shadows have weight they didn’t carry yesterday. Even Gus seems to sense it—he abandoned his own bone earlier, leaving it half-finished on the kitchen floor like an unfinished sentence.

Outside, the world continues its business. Cars pass. The neighbor’s dog barks at something I cannot see. The trees sway in a wind I cannot feel from here. But in this room, with this emptied bone between my paws, time has the texture of waiting for something that may not come.

I set the bone aside and rest my chin on the hardwood. The coolness rises through my fur, steady and honest. Some hungers, once satisfied, leave you hungrier than before.

#pawscarwilde

#emptybone