My father told me that religion was mythology disguised as truth. So we would sit in silence and contemplate the World. He was brilliance. And when I met you, when I first shook your hand and embraced you like summer wind, I knew mythologies were real. I told him of your presence. So we opened the Holy Books. We looked for proof of the mystery. And I was called ludicrous. We didn’t find evidence, we couldn’t find truth to make believe. And when he met you, when you walked into my home, he grasped my hand and told me that angels did exist. That’s the only argument I’ve ever won. Since meeting you, he realized the wisdom of the other. Damn, you are truth.