Apa leaves and then Ewa picks me up, taking me towards the park. I don't struggle until we get there, wanting to be put down and run to a golden retriever chasing a Frisbee.
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