I Was Nervous About Writing Slow Regard.

Do Not Mistake Me For My Mask. You See Light Dappling On The Water And Forget The Deep, Cold Dark Beneath.

How Odd To Watch A Mortal Kindle / Then To Dwindle Day By Day / Knowing Their Bright Souls Are Tinder / And The Wind Will Have Its Way

If I Could Sum It Up In 50 Words, I Wouldn't Have Needed To Write A Whole Novel About It.

I Thought Of All The Others Who Had Tried To Tie Her To The Ground And Failed. So I Resisted Showing Her The Songs And Poems I Had Written, Knowing That Too Much Truth Can Ruin A Thing. And If That Meant She Wasn't Entirely Mine, What Of It? I Would Be The One She Could Always Return To Without Fear Of Recrimination Or Question. So I Did Not Try To Win Her And Contented Myself With Playing A Beautiful Game. But There Was Always A Part Of Me That Hoped For More, And So There Was A Part Of Me That Was Always A Fool.

A Troublesome Question? Those Tend To Be The Only Whorthwhile Kind.