I really do love him, you know.
More than anything I've ever loved before.
More than I even loved Catface. And she was my everything.
I try to shield his sensitive sights from the harsh intensity of the sun. I try to caress him at the slightest sound of discomfort in his sleep. Each twitch and I'm there, holding him and fretting. Worrying. The day begs for his presence as I do. The grass sways with his breathing. Nature bends to his song that he carries with him. It's everywhere he goes, and it lingers long after he's gone. The space is never vacant.
I replay the sounds of the ocean and the touch of gritty sand in my mind. I recall the salty sting in my eyes and my own squeals of both fright and delight as I was quite literally scooped off of my feet, carried like a kitten for my safety. His profuse apologies and my own amusement. I was never mad at all. I never have been.
Looking at the smallest of creatures in the sand, scuttling and slipping into the shallow, wet slog.
I remember the fair weather on our date at the park. I remember his perfect hair, his gorgeous face — I shudder at the thought of its closeness in anticipation.
I love him.
