“
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,” he said. “Because it is an enemy to thee.”
The balcony scene. Too mistrustful to guess at the meaning, I said, “Don’t do that, James, please—right now can we just be ourselves?”
He crouched down, lifted the mangled script from the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s easier now to be Romeo, or Macbeth, or Brutus, or Edmund. Someone else.
”
”
M.L. Rio (If We Were Villains)