the title from flamingweasel
's beautiful, if overly personal node
. I hope he doesn't mind too much.
When you grow up, your heart dies
; faces blend. They become pieces of crowds in coffee-table books
or Magic Eye
; take your pick). In time, you see the faces more clearly; you decipher the puzzle
. Some of the faces become important; they incite you to joy
. And more joy
, and inevitably, heartbreak
, when you know for sure that the void cannot be filled.