my entire day has been stressful and nerve wrecking and horrible and bad. upsetting and tiring and bad. bad. bad. but upon reading a letter Edgar Allen Poe sent someone about the death of his wife I simply feel better. Instead of reading how complete algorithms of mathematical equations that often feel distant and cold, i got to read of how he loved her ever so much. connecting various works of his to this letter i understood him all that much more. I wasn't looking for this piece of information it simply appeared and with that, i know that the universe has not forgotten my happiness. However sadistic it is of me to find pleasure int he passionate sorrows of another is a compassionately different story but it was so beautiful oh so beautiful.
I'm happy to know that his "I became insane with long intervals of sanity" was the work of a tragic love story.
His wife apparently died from singing.
How beautiful. How dreamy. How perfect.
to die as a canary.
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