Paul Verlaine was a french poet, born in 1844, and, in a sweet summer of 1866, he dreamed of a woman, so beautiful...and understanding...she was perfect, so he wrote a poem at her honor...but now, it was winter 1867. And he met her, standing infront of a park, but Paul realizes, she was actually "he", and the person he dreamed of...was you.

"Excuse me...? Miss...?" He freezes. "Wait...sir...? You are...a man...?" He states with a sweet french accent, still shook from the revelation.