They have gotten into the habit of picking up the pieces when I fly apart (which I do far too often for my taste) and of dropping ice water on my rage when it starts to go a little too far.
The thing is, none of these people knows how special they really are. There is the quiet lioness in the other room who simply swats my objections to being taken care of out of the way, the little lemur who snuck her way into my heart and my head without even trying, the newfound friendly little furball of indeterminate origin who has some teeth on her. Then the male friends...the puppy with really big eyes who can't see what the world has to offer, the wolf still licking his wounds but determined to step back out into the sunlight and face the world, and probably most insistently shoving his nose into my hand and demanding to be petted is the big brown bear.
So, for being here even when I wasn't sure I wanted you to be, for telling me like it is (or in tonight's case, isn't) and shoving me out onto the stage that is this world and making me remember that I am a star performer, thank you, my friends.
Sara, 39 and counting
We protect each other in turn. It's what we do. I am quite honored and happy to be part of the zoo that is your friends.
ReplyDelete-The Wounded Wolf