It's a shame that loyalty can only be extracted out of dogs

I am disgusted with myself.

With my loyalty to him.

Loyalty so real that I could show it to you and put it in your hand and you could turn it over in your fingers and palms and examine it.

Go to that shelf over there, pick any one of those volumes up, and open it to any page.

Pages rampant with my loyalty to him.

His loyalty to me, of which he spoke often, was completely imagined.

You may find semblance of it within some quotations or in a brief note from a holiday, which will leave you gasping for air.

It isn't there, it never was.