Wit; true wit is not something you find everyday. While I have a circle of painfully witty friends, the greatest wit to ever live was Oscar Wilde. As a man who pretended to be a “proper” heterosexual — marrying and fathering children for the sake of society’s warped standards — his heart roamed elsewhere.
It was Bosie, the spoiled, insolent and extravagant lad, who was 16 years younger than Wilde, whom he loved most. Despite his frivolous and childish behavior that was dependent upon Wilde’s money, the incessant arguing and the on again/off again drama of it all, they always got back together. We all have a Bosie.
When I went to see Oscar’s grave today, all the lipstick kisses had been washed clean, mine included. To preserve the stone for future generations, it is now behind a glass case; a glass case I kissed anyway.
I had also, for weeks, been walking around with photos from a former friends’ birthday, the ones I had developed and meant to give to him. But things fell apart before I could, so instead I decided to leave them there in the cimetière du Père Lachaise. I did not leave them on a bench, but behind a random tombstone.
The weather will take its toll on them and at night they’ll be haunted by the likes of Piaf, Wilde, Balzac and Proust… but yet, it will somehow be fitting. If something has to come to an end and if love has to die, a cemetery in Paris is probably the best of places for it.
“I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying.” – Oscar Wilde