Kiped 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 (
Where's Waldo? 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.