Quirk

It's not when you're hurt that you suddenly cannot stop yourself crying.

It's not when you've been let down. Then - you wait it out, look the person in the eye and smile, then almost willingly, with a feeling of conviction and purpose let it out in the comfort of your home, in the capsule of your personal pill - your castle. A house or a park, a room or a cellar, you can often choose a place and time.

It's not when you've been physically hurt. The feeling of sucking up the spillage of pain when you fall over or hit your toe gives a feeling of bravery - like when you were little and grazed your knees and mum or nanny or grandma were there to give you a plaster and stitch the physical with the emotive.

No.

It's when you're leaving the country again and the father that time and again lets you down in tiny things and has an emotion span of a turtle, he offers to help you with the bags on the way to the station and then kisses you on the cheek. What do you do? Silly girl, cry.