I never knew that the smell of cigarette smoke could effect me emotionally but that shit just took a sucker punch to my gut. Fuck.
It would not do—the pillow glowed,
And glowed both roof and floor,
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door.
The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise
And give them leave to roam.
O Stars, and Dreams, and Gentle Night;
O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm but burn—
That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew:
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!
Also there’s this playwright from early modern England named John Ford but whenever I hear his name I just think of that song Tom Ford and picture some 16th century courtier swiggity swagging through the streets of London