My knuckles were bleeding. Bad. And the tree couldn’t have cared less. It didn’t feel a damn thing. It just stood there doing what trees do - nothing. And I stood there doing what angry little boys do - crying and bleeding.
My knuckles were bleeding. Bad. And the tree couldn’t have cared less. It didn’t feel a damn thing. It just stood there doing what trees do - nothing. And I stood there doing what angry little boys do - crying and bleeding.