In evidence is found the virtuous end of all worthy mysteries, for truth then has finally been revealed, but truth which is all together so illusive can be revealed only if it, itself, chooses to reveal itself and therein lies the point of faith. For had faith not played its role, the objective concept of truth would remain forever illusive and it is indeed faith which eventually reveals the truth as itself. In evidence what we discover is the casing of truth but a casing which is not merely superficial, rather a casing which is inherently disclosing the hidden truth. In so far as it is disclosing it is simultaneously not entirely revealing the truth for the truth is still shrouded within layers of scrutiny, even while it is being revealed. Howsoever the unraveling takes place, it only ends at the point of faith when based on all that the evidence reveals the final inference is made so that the truth can, in all of its entirety, be comprehended. Truth never casually lay itself as if when a book rests on a table. If truth is anything it is much more vibrant and to say, lively, than the resting object. The reality of the object, itself, that is the truth of the object, which is only entirely comprehended at the point of faith. For to say that faith is an introduction of an unnecessary category by which to judge evidence is to suggest that truth by itself reveals itself but we simply do not possess the means by which to fully grasp what it is revealing, that is to suggest that if faith is unnecessary then so is truth in its entirety. Yet none so forlorn lover only seeks half truths, when it is in the evidence that the true picture of his betraying beloved comes to the surface. And a lover can bank on that evidence for the lover is never far ashore from the beach of faith, indeed the lover is merely always showering under the waterfall of faith such that to his very brim he is filled with it. And if there is anything that drains him it is merely the acceptance of half truths or truths whose evidence he accepts prematurely. To be a forlorn lover or whether to find better ways to entertain one's identity is not the immediate concern, but it is only by studying such a lover can a thorough examination of truth be undertaken. If he breaths it is because he is in faith and if he cries it is because he is in faith, and if he leaves it is also in faith just as much as he reconciles. For a forlorn lover, faith is the domain in which he regenerates and expires himself. He expends his days in that domain and returns at night to its solitary confines, yet the next day he remains certain of its profitability. The forlorn lover is the purest seeker of truth, of absolute truth, and of evidence so certain that when he finds it he is the first to recognize its potency, whereas passerby notice the evidence but they don't possess the premonition that could've warned them of its potency that isn't too far from exploding any minute. The weeping of the forlorn lover is a symptom of him acting at the point of faith, of him hailing its virtues, of him coming face to face with absolute truth.