A man says something. Sometimes it turns out to be the truth, but this has nothing to do with the man who says it.
I once broke up with a boy because he wrote me an awful poem.
There's no data to suggest that I can make you love me whatever I do.
There was something appealing in thinking of a character with a secret life that her author knew nothing about. Slipping off while the author's back was turned, to find love in her own way. Showing up just in time to deliver the next bit of dialogue with an innocent face.