As I look through the old, dusty photo albums, 

flipping page after page, I see him.

I see us together, right beside one another.

I search deep within my mind and try to grab some information, anything.

But I can’t

and the frustration is overwhelming. 

I try to puzzle the old pictures together, maybe just to remember one moment that we shared. 

As I watch the old home videos, it brings back no memories.

I’m just trying to piece it all together.

I look at the old, brown and white stuffed animal on the shelf. Around it’s neck is a worn out,

brown collar and I see the silver tag glistening from the sun’s reflection. Inscribed reads “Cupid.”

He was my dog, who I called my brother, who I only know of from pictures.

His eyes were brown, but shined brighter than the sun.

His happiness clearly shown in every picture taken with his family. 

Cupid was love. 

When my family speaks of him, a glow of happiness comes across their faces that is indescribable. 

I just wish I could share in the glow of the memories.

The home videos reveal so much that I’ve forgotten. 

The day I was born, Cupid waited at the top of the steps to greet and welcome me into the family. 

He died at age 18 and I was only two.  

They say that it was a cold winter day, 

but it wasn’t the weather that chilled them to the bone,

it was saying goodbye to the best dog ever.

I just hope he would remember me, even if I can’t remember him. 

Any memory, just one, would satisfy me. 

My only want is to remember him.

Even if I can’t, I love him like the best brother in the world. 

I would give anything to meet him again, just for one day, so I could grasp a real memory of him. 

I would lock it up deep inside my brain so there would be no chance of it escaping once more.