Time for a piece which is genuinely, thoroughly not mine.
There are times when I look at my boyfriend. Literally, I just look at him. And I ever so slightly despise him because of how beautiful he is. It’s not entirely fair. I’m overjoyed to be in his company, and I know full well how lucky I am, but still: it seems like the heavens cheated me of something by making him so unequally pretty. The bastard.
This little extract from Yeats never fails to remind me of him, and of being surrounded by The Beautiful. It’s glorious but bittersweet. The phrase “to salt the eye of man“, is particularly evocative.
...And my gaze was thronged with the sleepers; no, not since the world began, In realms where the handsome were many, nor in glamours by demons flung, Have faces alive with such beauty been known to the salt eye of man, Yet weary with passions that faded when the sevenfold seas were young.
I’ll stop complaining now.