green as an ocean.

In a dark living room in Ireland, lit by one solitary candle, you asked me to choose my favorite author. And my favorite book. And why. In the dark, I whispered those words from Shakespeare:

"Life... is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing."

And then you kissed me, held my hand.

But I wish I had remembered the rest:

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!"

Then it wouldn't seem so romantic.