The "i" In Me, My

That Which Seems Most Feeble And Bewildered In You Is The Strongest And Most Determined. Is It Not Your Breath That Has Erected And Hardened The Structure Of Your Bones?

You, The Strong, Have I Loved, Though The Marks Of Your Iron Hoofs Are Yet Upon My Flesh.

Your Joy Is Your Sorrow Unmasked.

My Friend, I Am Not What I Seem. Seeming Is But A Garment I Wear — A Care-woven Garment That Protects Me From Thy Questionings And Thee From My Negligence. The "i" In Me, My Friend, Dwells In The House Of Silence, And Therein It Shall Remain For Ever More, Unperceived, Unapproachable.

And Let There Be No Purpose In Friendship Save The Deepening Of The Spirit. For Love That Seeks Aught But The Disclosure Of Its Own Mystery Is Not Love But A Net Cast Forth: And Only The Unprofitable Is Caught.