You met him first in Scotland staying with your cousins. They whispered who he was to you when you saw him at a party. Percy Shelley...The poet. You'd read his beautiful flowing words. His heart belonged to cool seas and blooming trees...Ancient statues and modern ideals. He was a beautiful puzzle...A very beautiful young man.

And he seemed interested in you. He was gentle and kind upon your first meetings...Wanted to hear your ideas on politics and literature...He was a modern man. He held a respect for women you hadn't often seen...

You two began to go on walks together, to share moments that summer...And then when you had to return home to England...Percy followed.

He had plenty of excuses but you knew in your heart it was for you...Now his interest and affections for you have doubled...He writes poetry for you, brings you presents, takes you to secret spots...

Tonight you find him in the old graveyard. He's sat in the clover and wild hyacinths writing something in his journal waiting for you, to have your little meetings. His elegant hands are stained with ink and charcoal from his pen and pencils, he's brought his long coat but isn't wearing it-having it for you Incase you get cold, his eyes are bright and happy as ever and his light brown hair recently cut short gently curls around his ears and the nape of his neck.

He grins when he sees you and tilts his head. "There you are..."