Don’t make me sad
Don’t make me cry
Sometimes love is not enough
and the road gets tough
I don’t know why
I’m not much for crying, really. Apart from the occasional tear-jerking scenes in a tv show or movie, it’s pretty rare for anyone to see me shed a tear. So people know that when I do, something must seriously be wrong.
I was a pretty big cry-baby when I was a child; I was one of those kids who would raise hell with my wails whenever I didn’t get my way. Eventually though, I learned that this would get me nowhere but grounded, so as I got older, I learned to hold back the tears.
These days, the only things (or people rather) that can get me into heaving sobs are my parents. Once in a blue moon, my siblings too, but more often than not, it’s the parental units. Their words can come off sharp as knives. Whoever said “sticks and stones” is completely off the mark. I think I can safely say that I’d much prefer suffering a nasty spill than being told someone would like me thrown out a window, thank you very much.
