"Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice, and she said: we are all just prisoners here of our own device." It is an indescribable pleasure to be with you in this prison of perfect illusions, in this dream shaped by warm, persistent, and unconfessed desires that will never submit to the blinding light of day. Nothing reaches us. We are fluid, interdimensional, something like common sense, like a categorical imperative or even an instinct. We are what happens in the rooms while life passes by the windows. Dreams, desires, or dawns—we are the sweat of bodies and tongues that intertwine, the enveloping warmth of sex and the weight of each word spoken. Perfect certainty is as brief as enchantment. We are parts of a whole that comes together in the gaze, in the scent, in the words that flow, and in the longing that, finally, becomes part of life. Simply, you and I are the definitive answer to everything that is missing when we are not together. A drink at the gates of paradise and the purest anti-monotony poison.