The truth is I love him. The way he talks to me makes me love him. Too
much. He is perfection. I can't say no. My friend.

The truth is I hate him. The way he only talks on missions. The way he
doesn't even look at me. Treats me no good. Like no one. My enemy.


The truth is, in the end, foe or friend, we will never be together.
Always apart.


He is good at what he does. Makes me want him.
I call it love.

He is good at what he does. Makes me want to kill him.
I call it hate.


The truth is he is so good at whatever he does.
I call it art.