"it's dark and you're pretending to be asleep on the couch so your mom will pick you up and move you to the bed. and as you're in her arms, your eyes closed, you feel a sense of peace. because your legs work fine and you don't mind walking to your bed and crawling in, but you so desperately want someone to care about you enough to move you. you want to be moved, so you play dead. because that's love and you haven't felt it since you outgrew your mother's arms."

"quite bold of you to assume something about my life."

"i don't have to assume. you wear it on your face."

"you think you can move me. is that what it is?"

"i think you could move me."