The Friend

What we miss—what we lose and what we mourn—isn’t it this that makes us who, deep down, we truly are

Wouldn’t it be easier if we just named all the cats Password

ou can’t explain death.
And love deserves better than that.

If reading really does increase empathy, as we are constantly being told that it does, it appears that writing takes some away.

I want to call your name, but the word dies in my throat.

Oh, my friend, my friend!

So let’s think no more about it. Let’s look to this day, and only this day. This gift of a perfect summer morning.

You’ll let me know, won’t you. Remember, I’m only human, I’m nowhere near as sharp as you are. I’ll need a sign when it gets to be too much.

How kind people were. Someone dashed into a coffee bar and came back with a bowl of cold water, which you drank greedily without getting up. Then a woman passing by stopped, took out an umbrella, and stood holding it open to shield you from the sun; it’s okay if I’m late for work, she said.

Now every time I walk you my heart is in my throat.

More amazing yet that you can tell apart the countless different scents hitting you at all times from every direction. A power like that makes every dog Wonder Dog.