Even there, in the deepest depths of humanity, I may find a human heart, a heart that is human still, in another barren place and with murder by my side, I may still find a way to make friends with him, get close, closer to him, become one with him, until you can not tell us apart, for even in the most barren of places, there one may live and love and suffer then draw one's terminal breath. One may thaw and revive a frozen heart in that bareness, if one can? One may wait upon him for years, as one does, and at last bring up the rare form from the darkest depths of a lofty soul, a breathing, feeling, almost human, suffering humanly, a creature beyond rapture; Is it our suffering that makes us human? Must we suffer for our humility? One may bring forth an angel, bestowed with deviancy, yet create a hero! A sex symbol! There are so many of them, thousands of them, frozen in time and space, lost and bewildered, as we are all to blame for them. All heroes die unfulfilled and all sex symbols die ugly, it’s a fact of life.
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