I have been loved by something strange and it has forgotten me. 

Your hands are coarse, you have stars on your chest.

If that night in Berlin was the only thing I ever got from us, it would still be enough. I was weightless and you were the world. 

You never did read The Necrophiliac. I guess it was a strange gift to win over a new over with. Trust me, it really is a very beautiful book.

No one has been as beautiful to me as you, and no one has looked more like a monster. You appear to me as in visions, and we have walked together in myths spun while we moved, I still see the thread in your hands. You smell like a dying man, you know. Or one returned from death. Is that why you steal? 

"I never loved you," you said. But you see, I know that you did. 

It's my story too.