I once wrote a poem and named it after the acronym it created as well as the book that inspired it. I called the poem Lolita. It’s one of my favourite stories, Lolita, because of the tragedy I so relate within it. While many people will look at that story or watch its several movies and see simply an old man after a young girl, I see simply a man in love with a woman who doesn’t love him back. I watch a man do everything, give up everything, and still fail in his unrelenting love for the young Lolita. Humbert dies alone, his love never returned. Yet in the same, Lolita passes in the same year, tragically though as if the gods gave our protagonist some hope in the afterlife.
I wrote this poem after my “Lolita”, the first girl I ever gave this book to, left me. The hole she made when she left has not, nor will likely ever be, filled. She is my love I will likely die waiting for. Yet I try hard to continue onward. There is one more copy of Lolita in the world with my name and thoughts written within the cover. This copy doesn’t adorn the background of some seedy porno shoot and was given to someone my love could never have found fruition with, yet still held a chance long ago. In that copy my poem is written.
Love Only Lasts In The Afterlife.
One has claws at the end of its paws and one is a pause at the end of a clause.