I see through the facade you’ve built, for I myself have crafted the perfect counter. The facade of glee. I see your emotion as clearly as I could read my books. My library of thought pierces the sharp gaze you cast, the mellow gloom you behold and the hot, glaring, justified anger you hide in those looks. I can feel it, you, as any other sense; I can feel your weight. Hot and airy, a breeze of warmth spreading through my body. A fire so indescribable I can almost not find words or reactions in a timely manner. I can feel your emotion. Burning your body from the inside out. I harness the strength of instinct to read. I look upon your hand and say what comes to mind, the indifference, the sorrow and anger. I am open to your whim, letting you feelings wash over me, enveloping me, I can read you as a signature left upon canvas. You are created, from the womb, from god, and from yourself. You are the master of your life, the one who has the most control even without the consciousness to come upon this realization until it either never comes or occurs at a vastly belated time in life. Insight we find, learn and carry with us from lessons people have implanted into our minds, and even our bodies.