I force myself to dance, to move through the nerves, to pretend I didn't hang my head over a sink and hope it would all stay in. I won't get caught up in your vague mysteries; you know, I'd like to think we're past these games. Honestly, lies are the problem. In my opinion, you withhold the truth from yourself the way I hold back my affection, the way she holds back her hair when she's releasing all her emotions into the toilet where they belong. Well, I can tell you one thing: that won't be me. No sir, not over you.