Before I had even heard the preliminary gust of your spirit push the first of letters past your palate and into my waiting, tensile ears, I knew it was addiction at first sight. My eyes burned as you registered your sinew and your bones deep into the very back of my visual cortex. I could hear the curlicues of flame lick along my dendrites and axons while the air whistled at you - a catcall I felt compelled to mimic.
You have an eye for beauty - we both do, it seems - although your eye is far superior in picking out the beautiful and the benign. The tastes peculiar to myself seem infinitely more malevolent when hindsight grants me the acuity to distinguish the foul and toxic. We frame the objects of our desires, in kind.
The only real difference between us is...I am a deluded ingrate, and you, a serraphim of ontological certitude.
-M
