She was stressed over her FYP, I had PMS (coupled with stifling weather in the afternoon). And when we spit verbal abuses off each other’s face, things get interesting.
As much as I love my family, I hurt them just as much. Though I looked reticent on the outside, I’m an inner rebel. Just ask my mom.
I wonder, does love and hurt coexist with each other? Like when there’s love, there’s hurt? Like you won’t be loved if you’re not hurt? So love means hurt?
Hmm. Pretty much explains it. Why I’m (still) single.