I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating evening which we spent together have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable Bee, what a strange effect you have on my heart! Are you angry? Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried? My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no rest for you lover; but is there still more in store for me when, yielding to the profound feelings which overwhelm me, I draw from your lips, from your heart a love which consumes me with fire? Ah! It was that night that I fully realized how false an image of you your portrait gives! Hidden within the name, my love to be proclaimed. —Maybe I Know Everything