I’ll keep your fish-shaped bowl by the windowsill. When spring breezes carry the scent of locust blossoms someday, perhaps that’s your tail brushing a secret signal. I’ll stretch out my finger as before, waiting for you to sniff it with queenly grace. Never fear being forgotten, for your pawprints are etched into the softest folds of my heart.

Keep chasing the winds and starlight that belong to you, my little tiger.

Forever loving you, Steve.