Imagine being loved by a poet, I can't. But I do know one, who is irrevocably in love with a girl who has the same name as me. I'll be honest, the very few girls I've met who have the same name as me, were quite frankly boring and just plain. And for some reason I'll never understand I thought we all were always just...not note-worthy. It was a stupid notion, really. And that so was I, uninteresting. But then, I read the work of said poet who loves a girl who shares the same name as me and for once in forever of my pathetic life, I was jealous, really jealous of the other person named me and wasn't me. I thought, How beautiful! How surreal! and How extremely other-worldly! To be loved by a poet - broken- but a poet, nevertheless. I read somewhere in a book, something which made me realize that I don't want a broken man, no- never. But, to be loved by a poet? An artist? Oh! How enchanting! To be an artist's muse, a poet's undoing. If a poet is fervently in love with you, you are loved in your past, your present and your future. Even after death, a poet will immortalize you.
I am jealous, so helplessly jealous. Of a girl I know nothing about, except her name and a poet I know nothing about, except his quiet screams of declaration. Of the girl who is the subject and object of a poet's masterpieces, that the rest of the dead poet's society devours like hungry beasts. Of a girl who might not even know. A longing so intense and a fondness so shrouded, the recipient has not the slightest idea.
By everything I am, I shall not die, before experiencing the unyielding love of a tortured poet. As a wise man written by a wise woman, once said: "what are poets, but fools with fancy words?"
I want me a fool with fancy words.
Am I just in love with the idea of love?
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