I scream and shout and then simply say I cannot keep doing this any longer. What's wrong, what's wrong you say; you pull your body next to mine, your carpet stinky. You hold me and hold me, what's wrong. I cannot keep doing this any longer, running and carrying my own weight; I am too heavy and too old for all that. I have been heavy and old for a very long time. What's wrong. Who cares what's wrong, you only say that because you do not want to see me crying, you say that to remind me I should not cry. And I try my best not too. I discover you have a freezer instead. Onion bread and chicken tikka, this is all you eat, night after night, in front of the giant screen of yours. I have never had chicken tikka in bed; I have now. What's wrong and my weight is heavy and I even travel light. Pair of knickers and a dress.