I'm not the same. How could I be the same?

I want to kiss you," I say, "but I seem to be holding this cat."Skunk lifts his hand and touches it to the side of my face. His fingers are warm from carrying the hot skillet to the table. He regards me very seriously, and for a moment I wonder if he's about to tell me we should Focus on Bicycle Repair. Instead he just looks at me for a very long time."You're beautiful," says Skunk, "and completely batshit.

My outstretched arms found hers, and I was home.

I hate that question, “Are you okay?” It’s like asking someone if they think you look fat. You’re almost guaranteed to get a lie.