Madame B
By Allen Forrest
Gustave's creation you are fine and fair and foolish beyond measure.
You remind me of me.
Wanting life to be exciting and romantic and full of adventure,
just like the magazines and trashy novels you read,
just like the television and movies I grew up on.
Is this so bad? Is it wrong to want life to blossom into its most fulfilling fantasy,
most of us, do we not dream during the day as we are tied down to the menial things,
repetitive responsibilities grinding away at us,
eating our minutes and hours and weeks, until we see it is another season,
and we wonder will it ever change, ever get interesting,
oh not the type of interesting that brings hardships and pain,
but the kind that inspires and makes you smile knowing something amazing is happening,
something of the wonderful, glorious, an event you'd hoped for now dawns shining its glorious light all over you.
Madame B, you were so impossible to please, so duplicitous, so mad and reckless,
you remind me of me.
As Gustave hunted for the perfect words in the perfect sentence, as he screamed them out to please his ear, you came to life, he fought to find a way you could live in those pages. And die.
You did both.
We all just write what we are, live what we can,
and in the end, look back on our wish for things that would never be.
Such is Madame B and me.
