I'm starting to think that guys like mystery as much as girls are accused of the same. They say they want you to tell them everything, want to know all about you, but once you tell them, they're gone...likely, off to find another story they don't know. I can see the allure in not knowing; until you know, a person can be anyone, anything...it's a magical thought. Knowing kills the magic. It cuts the infinite possibilities to finite grains. It reduces an unbelievably amazing person to just another person. Knowing is the killer of dreams. But why? The way I see it, you could spend your whole life getting to know just one person, and you still might not actually know that person as you thought you did. They could catch you entirely unguarded with some wonderful surprise or some terrible secret. They could remake your world something magical and wonderful, or bring utter ruin. Is that why people cheat? There's no intrigue in the familiar? The call of the unknown is too persistent or overpowering or inviting? I wish I could be mysterious or surprising or unique enough to hold attention. But I'm me, and I'm none of those things, so...so much for that. But at least I'm aware that I've got nothing, so I won't be surprised either, anymore.