I love you.

Your intentions are unpure and your art is twisted. Think harder about how you are overlooking important details and think less about satisfying my qualifications for a supernatural partner.

Don't let the agony you face now, as deep and strange and wanting as it is, stray you from the path to my open arms in another form (pure happiness).

You cannot look into my mind unless you can touch my hand, and that you cannot do, it has been shown. I don't trust you, and you don't trust me. Don't hate me, and don't hate yourself.

And, at last, rest easy, and feel my comforting touch in the softness of your pillow and the warmth of morning.