Is it not the worst crime to think of another when being kissed? Is it not otherwise meaningless to be kissed without feeling love? Is it a sin to lie – to tell someone you love them when you do not? Is a kiss not an expression of love? Isn’t any act or expression without sincerity a lie? How many times then have I sinned, in the past year alone? Scars like their nature are, as excuses, only skindeep. Like a courtesan to a king, I have felt the lips of a thousand men, yet the kiss of only one.

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