Mystery is probably the first word that comes to mind, but that is most likely only because you interest me. I rarely am unable to grasp an object I am compelled towards, and thus am baffled by your nature. An aura of mystique completely shrouds you, and hides any real clues as to what you truly want the most. There is wisdom in your years, as there are in mine. Believe it or not, in a way you are quite intimidating. Failure to produce anything that doesn't come truly from my heart in your presence afterwards leads me to guilt. I've no idea about those normal aspects of your life, but I do not need them to know who you are. It would be absolutely worthless for me to wish for your happiness, because you don't need me to. Such is the confidence I have in your ability to always fight the right battles, with your own moral strategies. You have been a good friend at times when there was no one else. You have seen me at my rock-bottom, yet did not save me, because you knew it would make me stronger. You instead encouraged me, and in the end, I am forever grateful.
**This is a prose I promised to write someone, whether they remember it or not. The title is to be translated using a method only given to the subject of the poem.
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