I did everything right last time. Kept myself at a distance, kept myself whole, intact, kept myself…only sharing as mush as I was certain would be later recoupable. Telling myself that my defenses were down, while I hid in the keep unknown to the world. And watched the specter of my being pretend to interact outside those heavy, dark, damp, stone walls.  I did every thing right last time, I neither demanded, nor needed. But remained patient and aloof. Putting my heart under anesthetic. Quickly, nervously, jabbing it each time I felt. Last time I was perfect … this time…oh, this time, I am not. I will not perform as a stereotype, of what a man should be. For in doing so I become that keep. Feel my bones entwine with the rocks, my tears slicken the walls, my nails scar the granite. I become strong, unyielding, but oh, for what price? Cold and implacable. This time, despite fear of destruction, I will be imperfect, I will be.