Loving a dog is a risky endeavor. You know, from the start, that one day you’ll have to say goodbye. You bring them into your life, fully aware that their time is shorter than yours. You sign up for an ending before you begin. And yet, you do it anyway. You welcome them in, let them take up space in your days, your home, your heart. Before you know it, they’ve woven themselves into your life in ways you never expected—ways you’ll never be able to undo. Then, too soon, the day comes when they’re gone, and it wrecks you. It always does. But even through the heartbreak, you know you’d do it all over again. Because somehow, the love they give—the joy, the companionship, the simple, unwavering presence—always outweighs the pain. Every single time. So you do it anyway.
Sperm whales sleep vertically in pods, a behavior first documented in 2008 and captured in high-quality photographs in 2017. They take huge breaths and enter deep sleep for short periods, typically around 10 to 15 minutes, but they can sleep for longer — up to two hours at a time — when undisturbed. Unlike some other cetaceans, sperm whales may shut down both hemispheres of their brains simultaneously, making them less responsive to external stimuli during sleep. Thus the pod for protection.
Scaffolding Hollow wood hums in bones, a dresser full of empty hands. The window does not blink, held open by lines that forget the weight of glass. Somewhere, a door curls into itself, a birdcage with no latch, a television swallowing its own static. Memory stacks itself like bricks, but the mortar is breath, is the slow hush of paper-thin walls. Lie down. The mattress knows your name, or something close to it. Even if city doesnot.
