did you honestly think i was a low-rent motel? run-down and worn out, offering cheap hourly rates and welcoming anyone with a pulse? no. you must have been mistaken. i am a breathtaking estate in the european countryside, a villa sitting atop a lush, mossy hill. you can admire my beauty from afar, but i will always be out of reach. you will never experience the enormity of my loyalty and love. did you really believe i was a dilapidated barn, empty of life, beams broken and exposed, offering no shelter or support? no. i am a safe haven. i am the place you yearn for when the storms erupt and the fires rage. blossoming before your very eyes, undeterred by your opportunistic nature. you will not exploit nor misuse me; do not be confused. i am not a rest-stop, a place to lay your head for a moment. no. i am a home; not a house, but a home. i am freshly baked apple pie on the windowsill, welcoming a warm summer night. i am the warm flicker of a candle nestled on your bedside table, the formidable illumination in the darkness. the one you need, but you will never attain. i am not a ramshackle pick-up truck, broken down on the side of the road, in need of repairs. no, i do not need you to fix me. you cannot make a project, a hobby out my vessel. this vessel is sacred; she has carried me through blow after blow on this voyage. you will not take one look at me, this body i call home, and tear her down. you will not ravage my protective shield, shatter this sanctuary i so lovingly constructed for her. i have built this home brick by brick. blood, sweat, and tears have created a flawed but bewitching mosaic, and you will not pollute her, this paradise in progress. she is strong, she is a force, and she has no room for your self-indulgent, fragmented existence.