As usual, Cordelia was lost in her reading. That always seemed to happen. It made little sense she had actually memorized the poem she was reading, but she just liked to look at the words on the page. Plus, she seemed to be under the impression that if she read different publishings of the same story or poem, that somehow someone would add one extra word somewhere that would unlock the mystery as to why the poem or story held such significance to her. She had done that with stories of the Greek Myths, and did that with a few other things as well; such as Annabel Lee.
She looked up quickly when the young man spoke to her. Yes, she had heard the door open and someone step in, but she had not even considered that the person would start talking to her...let alone have such an impact on her so suddenly. Cordelia knew that she had to have gawked at him for a few moments before speaking; which was quite odd for a girl who was starting to wonder if she was asexual. It was a feel of uncertainty combined with joy when she looked at him, and in several ways, it frightened her.
"Well, the poem really only captures a few months at the very most --which is a short time considering that the average person nowadays lives to be eighty-five. While this doomed youthful romance that is the basis for this poem fits well into six stanzas, it possibly does not have enough for a two hour long movie."
And then she felt as if she had been too harsh in saying such a thing, and felt a wave of guilt brush over her for somewhat mocking the relationship in the poem. That was certainly odd. Her voice softened as she spoke again, and somehow seemed more sad than before.
"What I mean is, their love was brief but impacting--just like this poem. It is perfect as it is; it doesn't need pictures or actors. It doesn't need to be changed at all from what it was...is."