He is lost without me and I without him. His heart is as pure as they come. Were I to disappear, he would sit at the window that overlooks the driveway for god only knows how long. Were he to disappear, I cannot grasp the grief that would consume me. I feel as though I would pine away for him until I vanished into thin air.
He is so uncomplicated. A tennis ball, the good bone and the occasional dollop of peanut butter licked off a finger fulfills his picture of the world. So little to be so happy. No cares about mortgages or retirement funds. No regrets about anything. Joy that knows no bounds, for no particular reason. The quintessence of being.
He is the Master, not I.
