I hold with those who favor fire.
He laid down in his bed and placed the opera on his chest. It had been played once, and would never be played again. He would make sure of that. He held the knife in his sweaty palm, ready to stab his life and his heart. He knew they played two different roles, no matter how many times people believed they were the same. Life was acting on desires of all kinds. He had lived a life of desire, or so he judged. He had killed whom he wished and hurt those he hated. Yet his heart had only music. It was music…and her.