He doesn’t know he’s safe yet.
When I brought him home, he sat quietly on the couch, hunched over, eyes lost, as if trying to disappear.
That’s not tiredness — it’s sorrow. It’s the weight of being broken too many times.
He doesn’t understand yet that he’ll never go back to the streets. He’ll never be ignored, beaten, or abandoned again.
He’s scared to move. He avoids my gaze. As if he believes he has no right to be here.
But I’ll wait.
He doesn’t have to do anything. Just breathe. Just exist.
One day, he’ll look up and realize he’s home.
Welcome, my boy. You’re safe now.
Credit – original owner ( respect 🫡)