Posted by Anonymous on 2014/07/03 under Uncategorized What does it mean to quote your favorite books incessantly? “That’s too bad. I’m so in the mood for poetry. Do you have anything memorized?”
I have a problem.
I am not out experiencing, but rather memorizing excerpts from The Fault In Our Stars on my front porch. My talent includes being able to recite John Green and play American Pie on my guitar.
“Let us go then you and I,” I started nervously. “The evening spread out across the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table.”
“Slower.” he said.
I’d felt bashful, like I had when I’d first told him of An Imperial Affliction. “Um, okay. Okay. ‘Let us go, through certain half deserted streets / The muttering retreats / Of restless nights in one night cheap hotels / And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells / Streets that follow like a tedious argument / Of insidious intent / To lead to one overwhelming question / Oh, do not ask “What is it” / Let us go and make our visit.’
“I am in love with you.” he said quietly.
“Augustus…” I said.
“I am.” he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I am in love with you and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasures of existence. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void and that oblivion is inevitable and that we’re all doomed and there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”
“Augustus…” I said again, not knowing what else to say. It felt like everything was rising up in me, like I was drowning in this weirdly painful joy. But I couldn’t say it back. I couldn’t say anything back. I just looked at him and let him look at me until he nodded, lips pursed and turned away, placing the side of his head against the window.