It Was Never Just About the Dog Walk, Was It?

We both knew what we were doing.

Leashes in hand.

“Accidental” timing.

Circling the same block just to make sure we crossed paths.

It started simple.

Just two neighbors with dogs.

A shared smile. A lazy wave. A casual “mind if we join?”

But then it turned into something else.

The way you remembered my schedule.

The way I started fixing my hair before grabbing the leash.

The way we never actually talked about the dogs — just everything else.

It was the safest form of danger.

Outdoors. Public. Innocent enough if anyone asked.

But the tension?

It was there in every step.

In the shoulder brushes. In the laughs that lingered too long.

In the fact that we never invited our partners along.

We told ourselves it was just friendship.

Just a walk. Just fresh air.

But I haven’t walked that route since you stopped showing up.

And when someone else smiles at me with their dog, I feel nothing.

Because it was never just about the dogs.

It was the escape.

The charge.

The feeling of being noticed — wanted — in a world that usually felt flat.

It was the only part of the day that felt alive.

And I miss it.

Even if it was wrong.

Even if it never really started.

Even if it ended in silence.

It wasn’t just a walk.

And we both know it.