(no subject)

[feral_inamorata]

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying us near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor in thy marble vault shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity;
And your quaint honor turn to dust ,
And into Ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.

From Andrew Marvell's His Coy Mistress

That is exacty how I feel. Why can't you just be more Cavalier and a little less Metaphysical?