And I'll smile and I'll learn to pretend

"But he's the sort who can't know
anyone intimately, least of all a woman.
He doesn't know what a woman is.
He wants you for a possession, something to look at
like a painting or an ivory box.
Something to own and to display. He doesn't want
you to be real, or to think or to live.
He doesn't love you, but I love you.
I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and
feelings, even when I hold you in my arms.
It's our last chance... It's our last chance..."

And I'll never be open again.