“Emily Brontë”... I stumbled thereon,
“Not sick, not shy, nor grossly withdrawn.”
There wasn’t much else besides an address,
So I corresponded and arrived in my best Summer dress.

I hardly had knocked when someone surmised,
“Emily! It’s for you! I have a surprise!”
The door flung open, and I met little Anne,
She told me I was part of a “comfort zone” plan.

Emily came like a web floating gently by,
Quiet and pale, with red rimming her eyes.
“I’m truly sorry, but you really must go,
You should try asking Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Edgar A. Poe” his profile read,
“Charming and eloquent, and sadly unwed.
Raven caretaker whose mind basks in hell,
Meet me for coffee and I’ll treat you well!”

I clicked ‘encounter’ and set up a date,
But he arrived a full three hours late…
“I was lost in the city, the birds drove me mad…
And I haven’t lived here since I was a lad.”

We conversed over lunch and spoke of his dreams,
All of which included hidden hearts and blood-curdling screams.
I began to tire as he mentioned his past and his life,
When I shrieked as I felt the tug of his young deceased wife.

At the time of his departure, you would think it was theft, 
He called over his shoulder: “15 bucks is all I have left!”
Virginia followed suit, scalding and scathing,
I tipped the waiter, who made a comment on Poe’s bathing…

I came home to an encouraging letter,
A well-spoken ‘Irving’ said we writers deserve better. 
My search results revealed he was an advocate for written art,
And aspired to live off of what he could pull from his heart.

I was cautiously optimistic as I walked to his abode,
But it was kind and inviting, anything but cold.
Irving greeted me, opened the door with grace,
Held out his hand, and showed me the place.

In the first room (and each one I have seen),
George Washington took center stage, blatantly before me.
Irving avoided the discussion of his own traits,
So, as he droned on about Vernon, I let myself out the front gate.

I closed my computer saying, “I’ve changed my mind”;
I began to feel lovelorn, a dino in the ashes of its kind.
I looked at a blank paper I had left lying on the floor,
And I knew in that moment I could create something to adore.

Love is intense, and when you feel its sting,
You devote yourself to it and offer up an eternal ring.
Love is blind, and to me, words are a bit bland in appearance.
The time you spend procuring skill strengthens its adherence.

Love isn’t always romantic, though it sure can be sweet,
There are pieces I have written that sweep me off my feet.
And maybe, online dating has taught me something new:
I should spend more time absorbed in what I truly love to do.