... I think there's nothing more to be said but more of the same thoughts I've always had, more of the same truths you are so very quick to dismiss out of hand.

[ Midnight says this quietly, thoughtlessly, craning toward Kaveh's touch. Still not rid of all thought here, even in his contentment. The tumble of his two truths: his yearning for a sense of naïvetè, his eyes irrevocably locked to reality.

Why hasn't he broken yet? What is he waiting for? ]

Tell me why he doesn't love you, Kaveh. Make me understand. It's the razor, you know. A simple answer for a simple question.