I think there is just a vein of humanity that really loves animals and really loves to read about them.

Even when I look straight into the milky blue eyes I can't find myself any more. When did I stop being me?

What else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That’s the reality of getting old, and I guess that’s really the crux of the matter. I’m not ready to be old yet.

Being the survivor stinks.

I roll onto my side and stare out the venetian blinds at the blue sky beyond. After a few minutes I'm lulled into a sort of peace. The sky, the sky--same as it always was.

You do right by me, I'll show you a life most suckers can't even dream of.

I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.