Beautiful Fragments


Is it possible to get high on poetry? Because Lang Leav just took me on a whole other level with her craft. She is brilliant. Wait no, I believe no word can truly understand what I mean. As cliche as that may have sounded. It is way beyond that.

Unnerving. Evocative. That’s what critics describe her. But with me, no adjective comes to mind.

When I read Lang Leav’s works, instead of adjectives, I think about moments. The transcient kinds. The beautifully fleeting ones like a butterfly gently resting on the curve of your knuckle before it is startled by your reflexes. The ones that make your eyes wide with wonder, your jaw hanging with unadulterated amusement. That split instant before the sun turns over its luminating duties to the moon. It’s the kind that makes you stop what you’re doing, discard all the clutter in your mind and bask in the memory and the nostalgia that her words lure you into.

I adore you, Lang. In all the languages humanly possible.


The Definition of Perfection


Augustus Waters is one of the most tragically attractive fictional beings every conjured. 

Some would actually disagree with me and might even frown upon my enthusiasm for “The Fault in Our Stars”. Others would peg his work as a product of “the evil ‘hype’ machine” (this particular criticism being my personal favorite out of a pool of hater statements thrown at poor John Green – i’d like to think that in a general sense, we’re all victims of falling in love with things simply because of the hype that preceded it). To be honest, I wasn’t much for the story. I was more drawn to the characters and the way they deflected their terminal condition by tossing around sarcasm and snide comments as a form of escapism from the inevitability of what’s to come.

I was particularly smitten by Augustus Waters.

If Jerry Macguire had Dorothy at a monosyllabic “Hello”(either Dorothy was easy or maybe Jerry’s Hello had a different ring to it) Augustus Waters had me at:

“That’s why I like you. Do you realize how rare it is to come across a hot girl who creates a adjectival version of the word pedophile? You are so busy being you that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are.” – Augustus Waters to Hazel Grace.

In a world where “I like you” is commonly followed by “because *insert overused and recycled reason here*”, this confession from Augustus puts a surprising spin on things. There’s a personal element to it. Like the compliment was tailor-fit for Hazel and Hazel alone.

Augustus’ admission to his affection for Hazel was colored with charismatic wit and pursued with a refreshing valiance. He was so brave, and inhibitions were out of the question. He was not afraid of how madly in love he was with her:

“I’m in love with you,” he said quietly.

“Augustus,” I said.

“I am,” he said. He was staring at me, and I could see the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.””

In my world, if you look up the definition of perfection, Augustus Waters’ name will probably show up.