Anatomy of an Epicurean Solitude: IV The Libertain

Hey, DO you know something about her?

S-H-E- P-R-E-T-E-N-D-S- A- L-O-T, A LOT MEANS- SEE, SHE HAS THIS AFFECTATION AND CRAZY UTOPIANism. HOWEVER, SHE IS VERY PRACTICAL, I should admit it after all. And I’ve been all the way praising and singing her beauty, actually adoring, isn’t it? You know one thing? Actually, she’s isn’t really that pretty or beautiful or A-T-T-R-A-C-T-I-V-E. Really, im not kidding. Mmmmmm.. well, I’m sorry about that (I’m chuckling now). See dear, ( I know you are reading it I ) you are absolutely b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l and y-o-u- a-r-e something else I couldn’t ever find anywhere. So precious, you moron. And I saw that you were perfect and so I loved you. Then I saw that you were not perfect and I loved you even more (well, the last sentence is a quote from some wallpaper <which I didn’t put in the quotation>. I’m having it for my WhatsApp profile picture. Did you see that? if not, do it now because I may change it sometimes I ). And, she has this vertical disability complex (she has stilettos, and walks like a new born bay on it. fall-no fall-fall- no fall. it's fun to watch her walking on those stilettos. B-E-C-A-U-S-E S-H-E H-A-S VERTICALLY DISABLED COMPLEX. OMG!!!!).  wowwww! Wait a second! See who is here!! It’s my dear Shakespeare! I asked him to just join me here, and he is here! He’s going to sing his sonnet for you on my request! You wanna listen (o-r- e-n-j-o-y)? Welllll, here we gooooo…

                                             <hhh, I don’t like the word “Mistres” here. So, read “loue’s” instead. Thank you>

MY Mistres eyes are nothing like the Sunne,

Currall is farre more red, then her lips red,

If snow be white, why then her brests are dun:

If haires be wiers, black wiers grow on her head:

I haue seene Roses damaskt, red and white,

But no such Roses see I in her cheekes,

And in some perfumes is there more delight,

Then in the breath that from my Mistres reekes.

I loue to heare her speake, yet well I know,

That Musicke hath a farre more pleasing sound:

I graunt I neuer saw a goddesse goe,

My Mistres when shee walkes treads on the ground.

And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare,

As any she beli’d with false compare. (Sonnet 130)

So, that’s it! Bye bye SHAKE-SPEARE.  You did a great job. You are absolutely not like Petrarch! Kudos to ye. Hugs and kisses <3 

Hey, do you know one more thing about Y-O-U? ummmmmm… well, I’ll tell it later I (again).

And do you know anything about me? nooo wayyy… Well I’ll tell ye something I know about me. I don’t talk much and I don’t entertain people much. And that’s the ONE AND ONLY (may be two) ****ING PROBLEM(s) (sometimes they are problems, but I’ve never missed or lost anything because of it; only good things happened. So they are not really problems, isn’t it? Yeah they aren’t. ) 

# I wrote some secrets about me here, but I edited and deleted them all. Hahaha. How’s that?  (21/12/14, 10:34 PM)