Sonnet 138: When My Love Swears That She is Made of Truth
I think recording our own work in our respective voices is a brave step and yet, an open comment section is the braver step towards humility in our writing.
I love the sonnets and it has been far too long since I thought about this one. Shakespeare's sonnets often remind me that love is the deepest, truest knowledge we can possess that sees all things and people for how they really exist--even if the truth is unwieldy and raw. It is that mutual knowing, and mutual mercy that makes it so beautiful. All pretence and pretending is made useless and into a running joke. In long love we put on heirs and voices if only to humour one another into a long since unnecessary song and dance. Unnecessary though it may be, we the birds of paradise perform our besodden ritual.
Expand full comment
ncG1vNJzZmijkaeyr7%2FWmqOlp6elv6q70Weqrpqjqa6kt42cpqZnoGTAsLrNnqtmaWNteri0xKdkprFdoby3sYysrp6Zoqh6tbTArWacp52isq%2FA0g%3D%3D