Jake

Jake was more than a pet, she was a quiet philosophy curled into a terrarium. His movements were deliberate. Every flick of his tongue felt like punctuation. He was elegant without trying. He didn’t beg for attention. He simply was. Holding him was like cradling a ripple of water made solid. He’d wrap around my wrist and just stay there, calm and observant. He never struck, never hissed, never showed fear. He didn’t need to. His presence alone commanded respect. He taught me about stillness. About how to move through the world without rushing. Jake wasn’t cold, he was precise. Measured. Graceful. He passed in the same way she lived, quietly, without fuss. I found her in him usual place, under the warm rock. Eyes closed. No more breath. No more rhythm. Just still. His terrarium sits empty now. I haven't had the heart to take it down. Jake was not a snake. He was a poem that never ended.