Art History

By Eleanor Lin

I always had a weakness for the Beauty,

anything to make my heart move unexpectedly,

Monet’s tranquil lilies or Rosetti’s sumptuous damozel—

meanwhile you loved that livid swirlscape,

all I saw was horror, hideous, no harmony of color,

form, or function: a miasmatic and a senseless daydream—

yet shouldn’t I have understood, wasn’t I

the one who sought solitude's discordant darkness

when the honeyed tones of other tunes seemed too bright

for life?—Sometimes one needs a mirror

for the shattered world which drowning we voyage

in midnight's half-dreamed state. Then absurdism makes

perfect sense, for to dream is terrifying

and also wondrous. Anything can happen for no

particular reason—my own words from the distance of

two years, better but not enough do I understand

two intimate strangers solacing ourselves

in a eternity of

daydreams

Illustration by Victoria Fu