My clearly idealized beloved,

You make me believe that for romance to exist, familiarity must needs be evaded. Sometimes, once distance is closed, no amount of imagination suffices to cast glamor on a thing. In ignorance one finds no depth, but the shallowness — nay, flatness — of its topography at least allows one to set up those intricate mind games that craft bliss — that lead to the unguarded smile, the coy upward glance, the running in corridors in the middle of the night giggling in fits and spasms while waving flaming lingerie in the air (no, not really).

Nietzsche said, “A pair of powerful spectacles has sometimes sufficed to cure a person in love.” This is why I do not wear my glasses when I gaze at mirrors to look at you.

To end, I dedicate this poem to you.

Well, then. Have a good life.

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