"I have yet to have the pleasure to reading the.. ah... Great Gatsby. But if it is something that you recommend, it will definitely be a book that I will look forward to." Desmond replied softly. The Great Gatsby had been published long after he'd gone to sleep. But in truth, Rilke himself had lived and died in such a time as well. It was only through Desmond's own wanderings in a bookstore that he had happened upon the book with such a fascinating title as 'Letters to a Young Poet', which had then caused him to go on something of a flourish of Rilke poetry. "Though I would say it is not that the letters are poetry and prose so much as they are... painfully genuine. Rilke talks about his uncertainty in life, and in love, in beliefs and in honor. It is strange to see something that raw, when very often writers especially know how to reserve themselves to paint who they are in the best light. To have something so open and honest, and realize that you have felt how such a marvelous poet was feeling when he wrote the letter is... exhilirating." Desmond said, trying to formulate his words the best way that he could, and, he paused, having said them, finally nodding a little in satisfaction for what he had said.
"It translates to: Love Song." Desmond said softly, answering her question as he looked at her. He raised an eyebrow as she commented that it seemed sad, and then looked into the distance for a moment. "Is Love not a sad thing? To have it and not have it returned is hell on earth itself, a disease for which there is no cure that leaves it's victims to howl in agony over things that can never be. Magnified a thousand fold when that person is so close to you, that you could simply reach out and touch them, feel their skin beneath your fingertips the way that your heart aches to, but yet, cannot because you would hurt them. And to hurt them would be a sin of such magnitude as to cause god to emerge from his heavens to punish you himself." Desmond said, his eyes staring off into the distance for a moment, getting lost in that pain, and thinking of a blonde haired girl miles from here who hopefully would never have to feel it.
"When you do have it, it is simply the strawberry on the edge of the cliff with a tiger waiting at the top" he said, referencing the old parable about the man who was chased off a cliff by a tiger. "A moment of sublime sweetness you experience while you try not to consider the two terrors before you, losing them to differences between you, or worse yet, bearing the loss of their life." He nodded quietly again. "So I would say that love's truest nature is a sad thing, but it is an equisite agony that cannot be denied."
"You should not worry about getting carried away by love or music. They are two of the finest things that we can experience in this life." Desmond said softly, looking up as the stars started to come out in the night sky. There were not as many here as there was in the countrysides that he remembered from his youth, and it made him sad. The lights from the city dimmed their glory, and he longed to see them unfettered by the taint of man's giant concrete jungles.
Desmond didn't notice her staring at him, in truth he felt a little uncomfortable with how little he was wearing. He imagined that she wouldn't have suggested it if it were improper, but still, a part of him felt weird having done it, and so he set to his task with something of a fervor so that he could put his pants on once again and at least feel the comfort of decency for the ages that he remembered. Sadly for Raina her little show would end probably too quick for her tastes as he slid the slightly damp jeans on once again and sat down beside her. If she were longing to touch him, however, she'd get a bit more temptation as he did sit close enough to her that he was within arm's reach, feeling that it was not inappropriate given that they were having a conversation and that both of them were, for the most part, clothed.