I Don't Have A Master.

I Kissed Him On The Cheek And Left To Find Bobby Lee. Him, I Trusted To Be In The Line Of Fire. But It Was More Than That: I Wasn't Sleeping With Bobby Lee. I Didn't Love Him. Sometimes Love Makes You Selfish. Sometimes It Makes You Stupid. Sometimes It Reminds You Why You Love Your Gun.

I Locked The Door, For What Good It Would Do Me, And Went To Bed. The Browning Hi-power Was In Its Second Home, A Modified Holster Strapped To The Headboard Of My Bed. The Crucifix Was Cool Metal Around My Neck. I Was As Safe As I Was Going To Be And Almost Too Tired To Care. I Took One More Thing To Bed With Me, A Stuffed Toy Penguin Named Sigmund. I Don't Sleep With Him Often, Just Every Once In A While After Someone Tries To Kill Me. Everyone Has Their Weaknesses. Some People Smoke. I Collect Stuffed Penguins. If You Won't Tell, I Won't.

I'm Learning That You Have To Make Time For What's Important. You Have To Fight To Carve Little Pieces Of Happiness Out Of Your Life, Or The Everyday Emergencies Will Eat Up Everything.

If You Think Love Makes You Happy, You've Either Never Been In Love, Or Never Been In Love Long Enough To Have To Start Compromising.

What Is It About Her That Is So Goddamned Special?