R.I.P. Bunny

"when we die, we go to the arms of those who remember us."

last night, i held, in my hand, a small rabbit. it was cute and extremely soft. it was the kind of rabbit that would have made ozzie giddy just to see it. i held the rabbit, which was named Bunny, in my hand and it just lay there. i felt the rabbit's heart beating ever so softly against my hand. it was beating so softly it reminded me of the softness of the fur. last night, i held, in my hand, a rabbit, named Bunny, as it's heart beat ever so softly and then, ever so softly, quit beating. last night, i held, in my hand, as i laughed, a freshly dead rabbit, named bunny, with extremely soft fur that was perfectly clean. it was the kind of moment that ozzie would have slapped me for. it was the kind of moment that ozzie would have cried uncontrolably. today, i hold nothing in my hand. i'm upset today. today, i rrealize the sadness of the death of a rabbit i held, in my hand, with fur so soft and so extremely clean, that i'd just met, as it died, in my hand. Bunny was a one of my friend's pets. i didn't kill Bunny. i laughed though. i guess you're right ozzie, it's not funny.

"we change the speed of the choices that we make and the barriors are all self-made."