XXXII

 

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.
--William Shakespeare, Sonnet XXXII

When I die, I want someone to vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.

Essentially, I'm trying to portray the ever present, almost unbiquitous idea that feels cringe-worthy whenever even though: I want to fall in love. There, I said it. And I will no long care about the societal connotation of "whiney" when I say it. I want love, I want love, I want love--and I will shout it from the highest high...the 'highest high' obviously being the internet. My blog obviously being my medium. You, my unknown, future lover, obviously being my muse.

I find it ridiculous that society should make us ashamed to say any of this.
I'm going to try and change that.
Not solely because it gives purpose, but because it's what I believe in with all my mind.

"I'm always on the prowl for Mr. Right.
Mr. Right Now [just] gets me by."
--Anonymous friend

What comes to mind is...
"We gon' find you, we gon' find you"
--Bed Intruder Song

so you can run and tell that.