Best,
When it's finally time to start taking risks, you don't think about it — you just do it. I quit my job that afternoon, and for the past year I've been crisscrossing the country, hunting for a copy of Travels With My Cats. I haven't found one yet, but I'll keep looking, no matter how long it takes. I get lonely, but I don't get discouraged.
Was it a dream? Was she an hallucination? A couple of acquaintances I confided in think so. Hell, I'd think so too — except that I'm not traveling alone. I've got two feline companions, and they're as real and substantial as cats get to be.
So the man with no goal except to get through another day finally has a mission in life, an important one. The woman I love died half a century too soon. I'm the only one who can give her back those years, if not all at once then an evening and a weekend at a time — but one way or another she's going to get them. I've spent all my yesterdays and haven't got a thing to show for them; now I'm going to start stockpiling her tomorrows.
Anyway, that's the story. My job is gone, and so is most of my money. I haven't slept in the same bed twice in close to 400 days. I've lost a lot of weight, and I've been living in these clothes for longer than I care to think. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I find a copy of that book, and someday I know I will.
Do I have any regrets?
Just one.
I never touched her. Not even once.