Viola

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Hallow your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out 'Olivia!' O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.

The greatest love of all? What really is the greatest love of all? How many type of love is true love? Is love anything more than a perception? Easily controlled, easily swayed. and easily wrong? What if Sebastian never turned up at the end? Viola would be misunderstood forever, left alone. Is that the limits of true love? It is so easy to see a pattern in random, especially as humans. I have no idea what i am saying any more, the most miserable thing to do has to be being a cynic at a comedy. There is nothing to be read between the lines but somehow...