Basil does the most.
The most to be, to exist, in a world where all he does is take up precious space. Thing is, he never does anything. Small as a miserable ant, small, tiny, tinier, imperceptible, invisible.
Making himself as small as he can be. Small on the bed, like a dog.
He does the most, body twisted and pressed, against where wall and bed meet, in a corner, hugging what remains of a rotting body. He has always liked being touched, pretty hands on his body like a kiss, there's no one to kiss him.
The sole comfort arms wrapped around oneself and the coldness of the wall against his skin.
Taking up oh so little space on the bed. A dog whose tail stays still and nose is dry.
Unloved, such an unloved animal, street dog, bad dog. Sick. Old. Not a puppy who will find loving arms in a minute. To be coddled and kissed like a tomorrow that will never come, fingers that will brush through hair and lips that will drip honeyed thoughts and words of love. Yearning of being able to kiss loving lips and finally being good, the goodest, the only one needed and the only one seen.
Not okay, never okay, never there, never alone.
Waiting for a someone that will never come. An owner that left long ago, yet the space of the bed is still as clean and pristine as it was left, waiting for his return.
He cries, and cries, Basil weeps like a child that will never find its mother again. He wonders if keep living will make the flowers bloom in the end, if his wait is not completely pointless.
He doesn't even know what he's waiting for anymore.
His back hurts, yet he doesn't dare move, too scared of ruining the perfect way the sheets keep on waiting. He considered sliding from the bed to the floor, a much better alternative for a rotting animal.
In a world where he doesn't exist, a world where he didn't left a single stain on a lovers home. A lover is what he is, a lover is what he isn't. Cut him open and take what remains, make him disappear, and kick him out when the interest vanishes, throw a rubber ball on the side of the road and drive far away. Even if you looked back, it wouldn't matter, no mercy for the one that has nothing to give anymore, for the one that does the most and yet nothing.
In a world where he never woke up. A world so perfect he cries everytime he thinks about it.
A carcass on the side of the road, under the scorching sun, leave it there. Make it feel loved, drive past it. Give it the love it deserves, and forget about it.
A loving animal on the very corner of the bed, dry nose and unmoving body, eyes so teary.
The bed is so big, so big, so empty.