Ah, Italian. You are mistaken. 'Tis I who resembles a monster. *Runs in shame*
I don't mind if you're overrated. Or if you're staring at the edge of the world. Keep in mind that I'm sore of blurry vision. But I can see it has to be you, love that I've been dreaming of. And if we climb this high, I swear we'll never die.
I was weeping as much for him as her; we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights