You may pique my interest with your mysterious ways. You might even keep me coming back with your shaded chatter, but know that it's only because I wait to see behind your facade. Wait to see the real you. Call me a cynic, a jaded soul -- you won't be far from the truth, but a fool I am not. I've already had a whiff of what you want. A glimpse of what you seek from me. Thinking I am so fragile, breakable, being that I am Glass, you wonder how close can you get, how far can you go. You will only get as close as I will allow you, and as far as I am willing to take you. The journey will be worth our time, and you'll leave knowing more about your Self. Whether that is good or bad depends on your soul, not mine. If you think that you are in control of this opera, I will allow you that falsehood. It means nothing to me. I'm not a player, simply an observer. The conductor of my own aria. So take the dias, and tune the orchestra. I'll sing in the third act. GlassPoet ~2002~