Instead of going through the door, I slip through a cracked window in the back and rush to her. I drop before her and take her in my arms, blinking back my own emotion.
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