Don't try that with me. Don't ask me to open up, lay every inch of my being fanned out on the table, like I'm a pack of cards that you're about to deal, play, throw away. Don't ask me for salvation in the form of secrets, when the only confessions you confide are the ones that choke you first. Don't expect me to bake you a cake when you only ever bring rotten eggs, and plates full of pretense. Please don't push me down just so you can help me up, and imitate the life of the well-meaning. I think it's sad that the better you end up knowing someone, the more you hate them for it. We should have left it at hello.