I am back... older, wiser. My passions are fully-fashioned, now. I am clarified and I am clear. Emotional encasement was my punishment, and I served my time in good faith and with an open heart. My credentials are thus flawless and platonic. You were so right ... adoration has no mercy, and I take no pleasure in its candid administrations. The irony is, as you predicted, as delicious as it is painful. I simply cannot get out of range. Formality is sensual. How did I ever believe otherwise? I am no longer particular. I no longer enjoy the comic tormentof my imagination. Please, my only true friend, do not be gentle. Do not caress my face, as you have before. I have no delicious aroma. I am, instead, newly-devoted towards permission-seeking.