The more I know you, the less I see. With each word, a layer, a depth, glimmer of hope for realness, is lifted off your body. One by one they peel away, parchments full of ancient promises, passions untold, dreams of a future thst could lay Morpheus to shame, drifting off into the warm night. Only the surface can answer, for no pool of character, shane of boast, prevents you from your base desires. Soon, only the shadow of a man remains, lingering promises from an empty core.
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