The Most Beautiful Woman

There is no way to describe her. I’ve met her, now and again. I want her.
Inner worth. It has little to do with beauty in the general sense. I won’t say it has nothing to do with it, because that would be foolish. We all know the inherent attraction we find for certain people because of the way they look, but that is not what I am talking about. Yeah, she may have style, she may have looks, but that ain’t enough. She may even have an operative brain. That helps. A lot.

Maybe that’s the most important thing: an operative brain. A nice ass helps, though. Ahh… what shall I say? Both, please?
There are so many attractive women on this world, but there is something, something which makes some women not only attractive but beautiful. What is that? What makes a woman beautiful, and not just attractive? It’s love, straight and simple. Without love all women are the same. Why do I fall in love with certain women, and others not? I honestly can’t say.
You’d think I could, wouldn’t you, after all the years? But I still can’t. They still surprise me, these women, with their craziness and beauty. Often the craziness is part of the beauty. I sit next to it. I think: Jesus! She is so…! So! There is nothing that can replace those moments. Those are, for me, the moments where I’d give up everything. All she has to do is ask. Anything, I’d do it.
I know: I am a fool. At that moment, I am an utter fool. But what would life be without that foolishness? A worthless piece of shit. If I am not capable of loving her so much that I would do anything for her… then what is my life worth? If you can’t do it for love, for what then? For money, for fame, for power? Don’t make me laugh. For an ideal? But that is my ideal: love.
Of course, she has to smell good too.

Speak French

Although I speak two languages really, really fluently, I still envy people who speak French. I don’t, although I love the sound of it. To me, it’s the most beautiful sounding language in the world. I do understand one word or another, so much that, years ago, as I was visiting friends of my parents-in-law in France, they thought I understood everything. I made an appreciative, affirmative noise here and there, and replied at least halfway appropriately in English or German, and suddenly they started talking to me in rapid-fire French, assuming I had it down, at which point I was totally lost. Oh, well.

Speak French. It is a beautiful language, it deserves to be perpetuated.
And listen to Zaz.
EDIT: And (thank you, Marissa, for reminding me) read French poetry from Verlaine and Rimbaud. Read the translation you understand, if you don’t know French, and then read the original, just to get a feeling for it.