A speaker came to one of my classes, I don't even know his name (I was late to class yesterday, as I am always - for some reason I can never get to that class on time, no matter how early I leave), anyway - this guy was reading a poem when I walked in. He was reading Emily Dickinson I believe. And he was explaining about the structure and the dedication in her poems. He was so passionate and intense about what he was talking about. The form he moved his hands made me fall in love with his aura. He must be a professor or something, or maybe a poetry expert perhaps? Our professor mentioned his expertise in poetry, so he had to be a scholar of some sort. He was 34, but looked about 28 with a thin American Eagle-ish yellow button up shirt with a white undershirt with gray high water slacks, orange socks and black TOMS shoes (or at least they looked like TOMS shoes to me). His blond hair was very well combed and gelled parted to the side with a little rise in the front. He looked like a gentleman that had fallen out of the Romance Era and had fallen on a yellow cab that took him to my class. It's but strange, that he, out of all people, he, presented me with who I think will be added to my list of favorite poets. The conviction in his words, and how he read poetry off the page (so loud so stern and so proud) he gave me shivers. The poems he selected for his presentation brought a lump to my throat because of their intensity. That had to be one of my favorite classes in my entire life as a student in that college (and I wanna say, pretty much ever). I was so tired that morning too, I was really close to not going to class, I was feeling sick and didn't want to deal with anything - something in me however dragged me out of my bed into the shower, and eventually out the door. I love classes like that, classes that reassure me that I'm on the right track, that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be at this point in my life. I loved it, I absolutely loved it. That class made me fall in love with my major all over again.