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Benedict Cumberbatch reads “Ode to a Nightingale” by John Keats.
THE END, BYE.
fuuuuuu—- *croak* I think I need a cold shower. This isn’t even fair. Please can benedict read me a story and poetry to help me sleep every night?
This is it. This seals the deal.
I’m laying in a field, under a tree, with my head in Benedict’s lap as he strokes my hair and recites this poem for my ears to capture and my eyes to embrace. A light breeze tickles his auburn curls and I catch a whiff of his sweet, sweet cologne. I stare into his eyes and get lost in a dream, but even my dream cannot be as sweet as this reality.