musings

[thefair_ophelia]

am i allowed to fall in love with literary figures? to lie in a cheap hotel bed and clasp a book to my face, breathing in the pages, as i feel a slow fire burn up and down my body? am i allowed to imagine that i will find someone like him, to make myself the woman i undoubtedly believe will end up with him, crying out his name testing how it sounds on my lips rather than on pages. am i allowed to believe that one day, i will love with a hatred that will shake my soul, bursting forth in flames, knowing that there is this neverdying passion inside of me that i know isn't natural, that i'm slightly scared of becuase of the control it has over my heart. am i allowed happiness in loving someone, in that security...instead of sitting here smashing ants with a rio ticket reciept, recognizing my cowardice in loving a man created by ink rather than loving a man who will never in his life know.

oh rhett butler, the agonizing thoughts you furnish my mind with!