/lit/ - Literature

It was on the morning of my twenty-third birthday that I discovered—a scene lit, it seems to me from posterity’s vantage, by some ineffable quality of the dramatic, a delicious caprice of irony, such as one encounters in comic operas or Greek tragedies—an unknown shadow of a man rutting away at my intended in a manner that recalled (with a certain je ne sais quoi) Pasiphaë and the Bull of Crete.