The story that I want to tell you cannot be found in a book. They say the history of the West was written from the saddle of a horse, but it’s never been told from the heart of one… not ‘til now. I was born here, in this place that would come to be called the Old West, but to my kind the land was ageless. It had no beginning and no end, no boundary between earth and sky. Like the wind and the buffalo grass, we belonged here. We would always belong here. They say the mustang is the spirit of the West. Whether that West was won or lost in the end, you’ll have to decide for yourself, but the story I wanna tell you is true. I was there and I remember. I remember the sun and the sky and the wind calling my name, in a time when wild horses ran free.
I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
10 Things I Hate About You (1999)
Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)
God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way)
Chance is the only game I play with, baby
We let our battles choose us
when u want to complain about something but u literally cannot talk to anyone about said thing