starts out subtle and slow, similar to a leak in the distance, non-existent until one's growing awareness of its existence. isn't it rather futile to be cross over ignorance that is harmless, however exasperating it may be? your inquiries leave me with few choices but little room for doubts of their validities. I am cognizant of this banter, dear, though certainly you'll catch on soon enough. shame colors my skin, and I pray you confuse the glow with another feeling, another meaning. you get too close, causing an agglomeration of my thoughts and an escalation of my deceptiveness, thus mortified by the concerns, terrified at inconsistencies, drained and distressed. well, how am I feeling, you wonder aloud, and I smirk, weighing the benefits of varied reactions, secretly satisfied by the exploits that swing back and forth between what we call a conversation. I presume that you assume there are depths to my replies. it pleases me that you smugly offer me a taste of my own medicine. I consent, for what else could I do, I love you so, and I swear that I am fine—bless you for asking though! you hold on anyway, for good reason because, over time, even the smallest of leaks can cause the most damage, but you're not here to fix me. you hold me over this tightrope, the best you can, offering your trust, thoughtlessly forgiving my blunders, patiently tolerating my rifts. someday, the walls will fall, and my lies won't keep me grounded like they do now. you will see through me like I see through you, and you will learn that your truths are just as ambiguous as mine.