Tonight we dance.

How apt a title, even though senior prom is tomorrow. My friends are all freaking out and having their own dramas surrounding it, whilst I am just...not. I'm just not. I mean, in theory it sounds like fun, but I'm not really a dance person, and I never really have been. I keep getting images in my head  of myself dancing with the creepy stalkers that have crushes on me (there are a lot of them...and I'm not just being one of those heartless bitches who disses all the guys that crush on her, I've literally been STALKED by scary men who like me to the point where I've feared for my safety). I forced my friend Watson (whom I've known since 7th grade...he's such a nice guy) to promise to save a slow dance for me. 

But I've started a new writing endeavor, attempting to write poetry again. However, I am not going to write sad, self-pitying poetry like before. I am only going to right poems about the beauty of nature and the like. I needed the wisdom of Sir Philip Sidney to tell me what to do. I needed his muse to tell my muse to tell me to look in my heart, and write. 

This is a picture from one of my old lit books...I have one from the 40s that I rescued from the garbage, and another from the 90s that one of my teachers gave to me. I'm not sure which one this is from, but I know it's a quote from Astrophel and Stella, just as the Sonnet below it is. 

I love vintage poetry. Nothing--and I mean NOTHING--makes me happier.