Nonsense. [ says kaveh, with a dismissive little laugh of his own. his hands continue. you let a riboshland tiger lay its head in your lap. you must never forget it is a riboshland tiger. but when you love the tiger - what can you do but do so? and midnight is no tiger; he only thinks of himself as one, and he isn't even a particularly good at being one, at that.

kaveh says, ] For whom does your heart exist when it's not being perceived? What do you do for yourself in the intervals when the shadows fall between the warmth of the light? You aren't thinking of yourself.

[ you are drowning, in the work and the business of it, in the shadows of the unsaid and the unseen. his heart falters at it, like a crack in stone, but for a different reason. this is not fury. this is an ache. this is sorrow. ] Who are you to speak of my heart, anyway, when you haven't asked me to give it to you? Hm? Ridiculous man.