Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
Today has been an unpleasant day.
I woke up in a bad mood and its never really passed.
I don't think I can keep these hours much longer.
'Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I never saw true beauty till this night.'
Reading beautiful things doesnt make me think love exists any more than without. People from dreams exist only in dreams. And poetry is based on dreams. And expectations are never lived up to. Expectations. Love. What stupid things to think about.
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