I sense he's male and I bite my lip, "Names Val," I keep my eyes closed, my glasses bringing up a profile of him for only me to see, "Your Ryder, right?"
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
"Not what I meant," I say, studying her back. "I don't care about your name. I care about how you came across something like that, something my family doesn't even know."
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
