Sink Into Me

13: "My Immortal Beloved," Beethoven

________________________________

Ludwig Van Beethoven...

Where is that book?

I walked down the aisles over and over again and sighed. The librarian said she couldn't find it but his letters were referred to in another book which I also cannot find.

This library was two floors as it was and checking both poetry sections would take me more than the hour I had. These aisles were so deep it would take me forever to find Beethoven's letters.

I grabbed a book on John Keats and went to the small desk near the balcony overlooking the ground floor where my friend Rachel was sitting. She had fifteen minutes before her class and she didn't mind spending it with me researching for our latest assignment.

I loved romantic poetry. Some seemed deep, some very deep and others either soppy or emotional.

"Didn't find it?" She asked as she turned the page of her book.

I shook my head. "John Keats will do. But I love Beethoven letters."

She grinned and ran a hand through her dark hair. "I've got Lord Byron. Don't you just love poetry?" Her words dripping with sarcasm.

I smiled. "Most,"

"Of course you do. You got 68 out of 72 in that quiz Miss Clarke gave us." She sighed.

"That's because I enjoy poetry, Rachel. It's one of those things that come easy for me. Shakespeare is my favorite."

She patted my hand and said, "Evie... I think you need help."

I chuckled and she stood up. "I hate to get poetry books and run but..." She smirked at me. "See you next week."

"Wait." I skim read a poem and stood up. "Would this be appropriate for the assignment? It's called, 'Modern Love'."

She waited for me and I cleared my throat.

"And what is love? It is a doll dress'd up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss's comb is made a perfect tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Then Cleopatra lives at number seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! If some passions high have warm'd the world,
If Queens and Soldiers have play'd deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! Make me whole again that weighty pearl
The Queen of Egypt melted, and I'll say
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats." I finished.

"What's the meaning of it?" Rachel asked generally interested.

"I think he's trying to say that love is an illusion which is obtained from daydreaming, a desire to bask in the divinity of love, and imitation of great passions and lovers of history. He's sort of making fun. The tone is in a way humorous. He's describing that youths believe that famous lovers of history are just around the corner. That youth's think love back in that time still exists now."

"I like it." She said. A bell rang shortly through the library. "Use it. It'll get you your A. I really gotta go. I'll see you next week but message me how you start. It's due in a few weeks so we've got time." She ran through a few aisles and I watched her run down the stairs and out the door.

My eyes darted back to the stairs as a man I still wasn't ready to confront started walking up them.

I whipped my head back to the book and noted the page down on my MacBook.