[ He wouldn't deny her that bitterness, he could even empathize with it; even as he was doing the very thing that others had. He was used to being looked at as the freak, the creepy little shadow in the corner with the disquieting talent of speaking in the voice of the monsters.
Hell, he was bitter and defensive. It often had him at odds with Zeller, Price even Jack and was part of what had made him vulnerable to Hannibal's brand of understanding.
He wasn't being fair here, a fact he recognized but was not in a place to fix. ]
I'm going to assume that's a rhetorical question. [ Because while he could offer an answer, of sorts, he recognized that he could never truly know what it was to hear the thoughts his imagination pieced together. ]
How do you know the thoughts you've picked up are genuine? Even in our own heads, our interpretations cannot be the raw truth. They're contaminated with our experiences.
no subject
Hell, he was bitter and defensive. It often had him at odds with Zeller, Price even Jack and was part of what had made him vulnerable to Hannibal's brand of understanding.
He wasn't being fair here, a fact he recognized but was not in a place to fix. ]
I'm going to assume that's a rhetorical question. [ Because while he could offer an answer, of sorts, he recognized that he could never truly know what it was to hear the thoughts his imagination pieced together. ]
How do you know the thoughts you've picked up are genuine? Even in our own heads, our interpretations cannot be the raw truth. They're contaminated with our experiences.