Our love is a tower I must conquer to be united with you.
The tower is an apartment building in which we live. You live in the apartment half of the time, and I live there the rest of the time. I try to meet with you, but you constantly evade me.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of you leaving just as I arrive.
Sometimes I wake to the feeling that you have been watching me in my sleep, perhaps trying to control me. Sometimes you will suddenly be there before me -- then I recognize my own reflection.

My incompleteness is like finding myself for the first time to be dismembered
and bleeding to death helplessly. My emptiness is the absence of the heart, which has been ripped out by a masked priest performing a sacrifice to appease you. Perhaps you ordered the ceremony. Perhaps it was your face behind the mask. Before our eyes the blood pours from my arteries, fills the cavern in my body, runs down my sides and onto the cold stone slab.

But I do not die -- my torment is endless.
I am unable to hurt myself. Finally I can't stand it any more. I climb to the top of the stairs and jimmy the door to the roof. From here, the height is exhilarating. Easily I jump up on the concrete wall running along the roof's edge and walk briskly, recklessly along its narrow top. I slip and fall, but catch on to the very edge of the wall and dangle several stories above the street. Soon my grip gives out and I plummet.

I fall by your window. You have been standing there, casually looking outside. Our eyes meet. . .