Improvements can always be improved. So you proved when you re-crafted me for the third time, with a touch so subtle, even the naked I failed to notice, humbled by shadow and light, unable to see the forest for the treason. And your reasons were your own. But the outcome is mine to live with. And I'm alive then I'm dead then I'm living and you're giving me cause to breathe and hitch and breathe and pause and I never knew I was so beautiful. Or so ugly. I know my values, but not my value, and I've been miss-taken, but I make no mistake. I'm worth only what I'm worth to you. Spread wide open, my limbs shake and my muscles ache and I'm possessed by an urge to cry and cry out and cry some more. If you give me time, I'll give it back, unwrapped and used but useable. I need routine care and air and I need to air these feelings I'm feeling you're feeling...feel me...oh. There. Yes. There. There now, it's a break in the downward spiral, a welcome rest. It'll all work out in the end, if only. If only I could tell it from the beginning, if only I knew where to begin, if only you'd begin again. And you would, because you're a perfectionist, whereas I know perfectly well if I could start over, I'd never begin. But let me start over. I am new. Improved. Version four point...oh! There. Yes. There.