Jace crawls over to me and cuddles up at my side as if he was still a little kid. I watch him before wrapping an arm around his shoulder and letting him do what he wants.
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
The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth. — Kate Chopin, The Awakening
