Crashbox

Ah, I mourn for you Sebastian, so long lost to the beauty we shared. What began as a playful and innocent courtship ended in helpless, tragic fornication. I watched you, dear friend, under the tree that golden summer day, full of hope and careless joy; but time and choice have carried off the sweet Turkish smoke that rose from your lips, and with it the afternoon fountain and evening wine; flowers no longer bloom under my window; Aloysius offers no advice. My heart cries out for more hopeful times: spidery-limbed Julia and Waste Land bellowing Antoine...
And as, with Charles, my romance with Brideshead draws to close I find I cannot keep the salt drops from my eyes.