Love Recontextualized

I wonder if Catullus felt the same, or was he a conman who believed love and realism are bitter enemies?

Was he so enraptured to a delusion his heart stayed lively while his hope stayed numb?

Parts of this poem I lost.

Who cares, I would have cut it out anyways, because time reminded me I feel this truth adamantly, one that contradicts the pessimist.

Not one to profess Blason.

 I mostly treat it like distraction.

 Higher thoughts allow no time but quickly it consumes my everything.

 I wonder how Shakespeare got any work done. Or was he gay?

Destiny speaks in memories, not prophecy. When I consider that my hand has already been well played I know I could play poker well. I feel like a ray of fucking sunshine! Tired of hiding who I am or how I feel. 

I know my name is uttered in talks I am not present for.

 I just wonder what I don't know.

 I could be driving the wrong way on a one-way street. Or maybe not? 

Maybe the poets are onto something about this whole love thing. 

Tangible, wonderful, and by all accounts possible.