My sad birthday because I just wander the streets, making friends with hunger and loneliness
Jan didn’t know his age, let alone his birthday. Time was a blur of hunger, cold, and the endless search for survival. He was a small, trembling creature, his world limited to the harsh concrete jungle. Abandoned as a pup, he’d learned to fend for himself, a skill honed by necessity.
Today was no different from any other day. The sun, a cold, indifferent eye, watched as he wandered the streets. His tiny body was a shadow among the giants, his hopes as fragile as the morning frost. He remembered the warmth of something soft, the comforting rhythm of a heartbeat. But those memories were fading, replaced by the stark reality of his existence.
Hunger gnawed at his insides, a constant companion. He scavenged for scraps, his small body reduced to a shadow of its former self. There were no birthday wishes, no playful pats, no warm embraces. Just the relentless pursuit of sustenance.
As the day wore on, the city began to hum with activity. People hurried past, their lives a world away. Jan was invisible, a speck in the grand scheme of things. He longed for a touch of kindness, a warm meal, a safe place to sleep. But the world offered little in the way of compassion.
As night fell, the city transformed into a world of shadows and lights. Jan found a sheltered spot beneath a discarded cardboard box. The cold seeped into his bones, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. He curled up, his small body trembling. It was his birthday, a day marked by loneliness and despair. There were no presents, no celebrations, just the harsh reality of his existence.
As sleep claimed him, he dreamed of a warm home, a soft bed, and the love of a human. But when he woke, the cold, unforgiving world would be waiting. His birthday, if it was indeed a birthday, was a stark reminder of the life he’d been dealt, a life of solitude and survival.
