I find it hard to see the picture that you paint of us when it's just me alone by myself without the influx of strokes or touch. I start to doubt the existence of the feelings that you say you possess which in turn leads me to begin to obsess ala Da Vinci I try to decode the images and unlock the hidden messages all fir the sake of confirmation that in the end my Mona Lisa smile isn't a misinterpretation of the actual reality of our situation, I mean who is to say that what I'm seeing is in fact the truth or is it just the fantasy you are creating using artistic freedom to distort enhance or minimize all in the name of having your vision fit the frame I dont want to fall victim to an optical illusion but again these thoughts only come when you are not around to give the Bob Ross whisper that has me convinced that I'm ok being apart of your forest of happy trees I mean i want the truth but if it is not as petty of a scene as you have drawn it to be I guess I'd rather you lie to me but honestly the moral of this poem is that it is probably best if you don't leave me alone to think.