Blog: The Wattled Smoky Honeyeater

Grace runs up to me (this is the part of the story I don't see) and I jump a little bit in my chair when she touches me. Part of me wants to jump, hop, skip and run, most of me wants to lie down and fall asleep because I'm sick, drinking bottle after bottle after bottle of water, pilling every twelve hours and not sleeping too well at night. But Grace runs up to me and I jump a little bit in my chair when she touches me. The part after that, most of it doesn't matter, doesn't [...]