The Time of Mirrors

I seem moved... You never thought I would use the verb to hallucinate outside of a doctor's office... Windmills only bow in the words of poets... And would it be a crime, for a moment, to humbly limp in the wake of genius? His – his, not the poets'... – chronic and lamentable mental confusion demands an exaggerated restraint, which lucidity and the rejection of mawkishness do not require. The clarity of analysis implies a sensibility which, without false modesty, I believe I possess. Did you only notice it when I left out parentheses and italics and coddled his family???? The villain also deceived you. With honeyed words he made me the bore who put his finger, words and scalpel into painful scars. It was necessary, I repeat. For all the reasons invoked above and one more – time is running out. I see a tunnel at the end of the light, it would be advantageous if we made the rest of the journey in sound camaraderie. I don't even rule out a good friendship. Bogart and Rains managed it in Casablanca and everything seemed to separate them! The truth is that we are condemned to die and live as a duo.
As now, as night falls in Cantelães.