Poor Pony is sick. His poor pretty little head is all clogged up. I tihink he really happy with me. I was kinda cranky last night. And he was so sweet and yet he was sick. he says its such a wonderfully safe feeling when we are cuddling in bed.
I love our little life together. It was weirdest thing when i first saw him, part of me figured that he was way too hot for me. But another part of me saw something. Something in those eyes. Some strange light that gavce me an odd sense of comfort. I remember those first mornings looking at the celing and walls of his bedroom, wondering if I would ever see it again.
And there I am most mornings, my clothes in the drawers and closet. My boots next to the dresser. My pots in his kitchen.
What is life? What is it allabout? No one knows. So much running around so much fuss each oday over things that don't really matter.. PB and I are old. And someday we'll be older if we are lucky. Holding each other.
I love what we have, what we share together. Every day with him is a gift.
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