After a lovely vacation on the beautiful island of Maui, Hawaii, I present to her a small, felt box, small enough to fit in my hand.
I open it.
A hamster the size of a thumb lays there, gasping for air as the oxygen comes rushing back to the tiny creature. His little lungs were straining with effort.
She gasped at the sight.
One would think that my decision to keep a hamster in an airtight box for no other reason than to entertain her would be an alarm bell of sorts.
It wasn't. Not to her.
She called me honey and named it powdered sugar, right before it scampered away, searching for freedom anywhere on this big sandy place, only to drown when a crashing wave swallowed it whole, mercilessly washing away its tiny footprints.
A better name for the hamster would be...
Anyway. She tends to only call me monster, now.
If only she had heard the alarm instead of the wedding.
In this book I’ve been rereading It says that the chain that connects the lion and the gazelle is not hunger but fear The lion fears starvation and the gazelle, elimination The same chain connects myself and my memories I fear I may lose how they have bettered me They fear they may lose their hold on my health About the chains, though, they’re different The gazelle can only keep the lion alive for so long But if I am the lion of my chain, the memories will keep me who I am And I am all the living for it