paradoxes

i would cry for you little girl, if my heart had room. but the valves only pump blood, not the glue you so desperately desire. my interest holds only clipboards, your story, not your soul. i am a good man, but a very poor wizard, inadequate in the most fundamental ways. should i click my heels thrice and head back to kansas? or do i once again project my face, a painted mask of compassion- i am only doing my job.