You were a stray cat, strutting so free and full of pride. But I could see your open wound. And without really thinking I just chalked it up to another cool thing about you.
Say, Nana… You look like stray cat, wild and proud. But I can see the wound in your heart. At the time I just thought it was cool. I never realized how hurt you were.
Someone who won’t constantly mind about my childish needs but who, the day after the quarrel, for example would offer me a flower accompanied by a sweet note That’s kind of guy I need.
