i. Someday, my words will be enough to tell you how things truly are.
Someday, there will be ages and pages and chapters of you stored away on shelves upon shelves in my personal library, a collection of you's and your's and everything to do with what kept me sane and what kept me happy those bewildering 8 years. You will look back on this (i hope) in a decade or so and nod, because I kept it sacred -- this written promise of unintentionally building you a shrine.
ii. Lies, everywhere; lies.
Everything I've ever managed or done or written about, in colored prose and verse and ribbons of assortments and feeling -- every single one of those artful instances has been a lie. This is a piece out of Nothing is original, even this is stolen. And you, someday, I shall steal as well.
iii. Build yourself a castle.
I'm in quite the mood for a prince, myself.
