oh the jazz age.

my love for mr. fitzgerald and mr. gatsby has escalated yet again and i find myself talking like daisy buchanan, god forbid. or just another rich girl in the jazz age, which i'm strongly starting to believe i was in a past life.
i watched the gatsby movie, it just finished moments ago, and to see that beautiful story played out in front of me with faces i'd envisioned almost perfectly, it was amazing. it's strange to love a story so much that you're moved by any aspect of it, just seeing it move around it front of you like you'd always imagined it.
i want to go to parties where they are tents and big bands playing around a huge fountain which lays in the backyard of the most gargantuan house, the most beautiful lavish house. i want to wear sparkling gowns and have my hair curled and wave feathered fans and drink illegal liquor. now as i'm only 18 in this day and age, all liquor i drink is illegal, at least in new brunswick, but i mean prohibition illegal. i want to be there, kicking my legs wildly as i dance, and celebrating a war that is over, and speaking eloquently, while bright white curtains hung off all my open windows.
i want to live glamorously, have someone love me for years and never forget about me. be able to forgive someone who did forget about me because there is still a love so strong between us, i just want to live in this era, in these stories, with smudged eyeliner and frail bodies draped in pearls. i want to be swept off my feet and i want to drive giant yellow cars and vacation on the french riviera.
i want someone to love me so strongly, as strongly as i feel for once. so strongly that it's okay to get married when you're 18 because it's this dramatic non fading love, this beautiful ever lasting thing. and it's not like today where people assume you're pregnant or throwing your life away, because they lived lives so full of everything that they could just be in love and appreciate everything they experienced with each other.
sometimes i think i'm zelda fitzgerald. crazy as can be, full of passion, enough of both to drive someone who loved her completely out of their mind. i can do that, that's for sure. i wish i could inspire art. but i'd have to be much more horrid and ruin a beautiful man for the sake of a story.
but for what the story's done to just me alone, it's quite spectacular. i wonder if mr. fitzgerald would see it as being worth all the hassle, just to inspire someone so much, to make someone desire something so big and beautiful and hopeful. to want to reembody gatsby's unmistakable hope. and nicole diver's never ceasing passion and love.
it's all an old fashioned idea i suppose.