After my father died my mother and sister both refused to admit that he had beat me and told me it was "all in my imagination".
Subsequently I was talking to an old school friend and mentioned this. She told me "Well I can remember you coming to our house when you had been crying and there were huge bruises on your arms where you could see finger marks. That wasn't in MY imagination."
We only remember the things we want to remember.
By special request, let’s discuss our favourite Classic Music and why?


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