Here, in the sonnet below, our bard is saying, “okay, I know in the eyes of others the one I love probably ain’t the bee’s knees; probably ain’t everyone’s be all and end all” but, in my eyes, she’s perfect and she’s priceless and she’s beyond compare:
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
— William Shakespeare
When the calendar did etch up 3 weeks
I felt the hole in my heart deepen more
I felt the rupture in my soul still more
I felt the hollow of forever more.
Then I looked up to the blinding sunlight
I worked hard to make myself stand upright
I wended for solace with my graphite
I willed myself to state it’ll be alright.
Then, back to default: eyes to the abyss
I see sadness begot from broken hopes
I see ageing, despair and stark decay
I see winter grey and cold solitude.
But i’m incapable of letting go;
You’re my heart (💖) so, everything I’ll forgo.
A poet, traditionally one who recites epic poems.