Why exactly did we ever stop that troubadour-thing, I wonder?
‚Cause I have a secret fantasy of stepping out on my balcony into a lazy summer breeze to find a poet sitting underneath it, making up nightlong stories about walking away and coming home, dragging me along a magically winding path, consoling me with the perfect peace found at the heart of Understanding. And man, would David Whyte be perfect for the job.
Nowadays, we must make do with freaking Youtube-videos.
For romance’s sake, bring back the dark ages, I’m begging you.