This is my best baby. Ever. And she has gone missing. Although my feed is dedicated to art, you will find her in many posts because she acts like a dog and shadows me. And because she is so beautiful. She embodies art.
My baby is gone and I am a wreck. She followed me everywhere and I can hardly operate without her.
I choose present tense in hopes that she comes back. She sleeps with me and stumbles to the bathroom for morning exercises. She eats with me. Paints with me. Critiques my work, as you have seen in previous posts. Gardens with me and walks to the mailbox with me. Wherever I go, she follows and parks herself at my feet. If she's outside and I come home, she runs to my car and jumps in. If she's inside, she comes running and meowing as soon as she hears me. She lays on my iPad and our card games, and parks in the middle of big groups. She continually trips me because she is always there. She cries if she can't find me and comes running when I call. My baby.
Art critic extraordinaire. Always there.
She was happy when she was with me.
But she is no longer there. There is a tangible empty space around me. I move and she is gone. My hand reaches out to empty air. My shadow is missing. I call out to an answering silence. Tears tears tears, I have made myself sick with tears. My baby, you who scolded us every time we left the yard, please come home.