You won't find me on the floor scraping off every word that fell out of half-truth conversations and you won't find me collecting these fallen words into a piece of paper. When things get heated you can look anywhere you want, I will be on the couch, or leaning against the wall or drinking sweet drinks from plastic cups and not behind closed doors, just lying on the bed. If we're dancing at a ball, you can bet that I'll kiss your glove, show you my teeth, twirl you around and give you sugar cubes compliment because I won't be taking you to the garden where I take off my mask and ruin the Masquerade theme. When the time strikes 12, and the magic disappears, I would probably be too unless you ask me, "Why not?". Only then I'll choose to stay.