I feel happy, yet not fulfilled. You are without a doubt the most deceitful and conniving person I have encountered. Nevertheless, you do not cease to also be one of the most passionate. How can such perfection be so flawed? Perhaps you are the beauty of it, or perhaps you are the monstrous master of it all. I opened my eyes to look up at you, only to discover that your eyes were closed shut, to hear your heart race and to find my fingers intertwined with yours. That ought to count for something, I think to myself at times. I cannot fall into fantasies, however, I refuse to breathe deceit.