CATULLUS THE FOOLYou remember the day too, the day you met the fool—a long bather in the pool of mediocrity, a champion sooth sailor of misery’s correct manner, a boy ripe with lust ready to follow the thumping mid-range. You are the entrance.
The truth is he changed; they all do. When a man finds his heart within a woman, they change, but the problem lies with the expectations of the woman to comply. Some women do, but not you. When your lover comes to this crushing realization, you glow with life, a pleasure form of immortality for you, remembrance creates permanence...eternalness. Forever is the time in which you exist, and until your lovers reach this point, you feel nothing.
Your initial intent is not harm, but you are drawn to these flowers of blossoming innocence. They are there in need of an admirer, because you believe girls love trophies. But the fool is special, he, you immortalize. You see a chrysanthemum growing among the weeds in your fields of rye. There isn’t some romantic reminiscence of love; or you lost the man of dreams; or the one that got away, no, he wasn’t special like that at all. He was a boy who needed to be taught the ways of manhood and poetry, a student and you, his mentor, his muse: “...qua sunt totidem mea: deprecor illam/ assidue, verum dispeream nisi amo.” Farewell.
“...because it is just the same with me. I am perpetually crying out upon her, but may I perish if I do not love her.” - Catullus Poem 92
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