When He breathed life into me, there was something mixed in with the loam … some stray particle or fragment of a grain disrupting the perfection, causation of desire. Something that made perfection oppressive. And Adam. He would not stop being so good, so kind. And though he would not say it, I could not stop thinking…. I do not know who I am. I do not know who I am with you. I am derivative, my life evolving from and revolving around you. And I was bored. How dull to go around naming things, to have everything I want, and to think everything good and enough… to not feel the base emotions, the strongest emotions. Shame and fury… to feel fire in my cheeks from embarrassment. To hate my body and thus, to hate his. I deceived them… pretended to be deceived by the snake. It was not deception. It was delicious. It was curiosity and it was responsibility… for my education and my nourishment… to take my life and make it my own. In those gray days leaning against trees, in the tyranny of never ending perfect days, I began to yearn… to hope and to trust what I always suspected… that it is better to be free than to be loved.