I hide behind him, watching everything. The security guards back up but the men in suits just take caution. My mother runs with James, but my father stays, confused.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
I was weeping as much for him as her; we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights