Ask me, then. Ask me anything. I will tell you how you were distant. I will tell you how few centimeters it would have taken for me to fall, how easily I can step to the edge of a cliff. I wonder if my fear of asking might come to visit you sooner of later: 'do I really want to know the answer?' You can call me pure, but you don't know how far I've fallen. (And yet anything I say feels small, puritanical, in the face of your life and trials) ...and that's fine. You'd only say it was more theortical purity anyway, cause I've traced all the lines and, yes, sooner of later it all falls back to beginnings, as if it wasn't true of everyone.