True or false: you love him.
True or false: he loves you.
Who do you love more: him or yourself? Him— Myself.
I love myself more.
Please, let me be the selfish one this time.
Just this once.

I dance alone among the stalagmites and stalactites
Wandering the mazes of caves
My prison— my home
Singing to myself
About a boy I could not love
It is a lonely existence
But I am expecting some company soon

Narcissus hears me singing one day; he hears the faintest melodies about a boy with sunshine hair and eyes of the sky.
He walks into the darkness.
In search of this elusive girl, he forges deeper into the subterranean labyrinth.
However, he is no Theseus; no Ariadne helps him. He has no golden ball of thread.
(Sometimes he thinks he can see her, a shimmery figure in the distance, but she is too fleeting.)
((Heroes have fallen to lesser trials, but he is no hero.))

You'll never catch me, Narcissus.