Not only is it possible to fall in love with merely the idea of a person, it is, more often than not, the case. How sad that to you I am an idea of such grand proportions and great potential, when to myself I can be summed up in a few words. I made you, all your flaws and all the magic included. Then why can I not let myself be made? For truly, nothing would make me happier than to know that I exist outside my own body, in you; but I never can stop wondering what would happen to those few words then.