“I have so much of you in my heart.”
― John Keats
Anyone able to come up with this phrase is worth gushing over.
No wonder John Keats is celebrated as one of the leading figure of the 19th century Romantic movement.
Unfortunately for us, Mr. Keats succumbed to Tuberculosis at the tender age of 25. He died believing he was a failure and left the world unable to return and marry his one great love – Fanny Brawne.
Luckily, he has left us some wonderful verses to inspire us and make our hearts swoon.
The love story in the movie was slightly restrained and the interaction between the two characters were a little awkward. But the movie was a gem to begin with. Full of verses and scenes of longing.
And I, like any other fool, was left wishing for a happy ending that I knew was never to come.
On a more sordid note, I saw this article from Thought Catalog about Ms. Lorelei Hayworth, who was found over the dead body of her lover. In her person was found such a moving if not a little too creepy, passionate letter to her beloved. See text of the letter below:
Devour me, please. I want you to. You’ve already tainted me like the way fruit reddens the milk during your breakfast.
The first time I said I love you it tumbled from my lips like a loose tooth. It was sharp and heady as the whiskey you knocked back moments before. I forgot to tell you… I am a madwoman.
I’m quick to anger. I am voracious. I live in extremes. Some nights after the sweat cools I’m afraid I’m insatiable or just empty and not even you can fill me. These are all things you haven’t seen yet or only in manic flashes that come across as endearing to you. But they may not always be.
I’m telling you this not to push you away but because I want you, desperately. I need you to continue to look at me the same way. I need to prove to myself that I am more than this madness and that I can be loved fully and recklessly.
So please continue to look at me the same way, darling. My gift to you this December, enveloped by fresh snow and graced with my tears like the ornaments on our tree, is that I will be better next year. Promise.
This makes me think that indeed, love makes poets of us all. What do you think?
“Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance".” ― John Keats