Richard Armitage is poetry. He is poetry in his stillness, and in motion. He is poetry aloud and in the moments of silence. He is poetry in the laughter and the pain, the joy and the sorrow. He is poetry in his humanity, in all its flawed beauty, its imperfect perfection.
His characters become flesh and blood and bone to me. I see through their eyes, through his eyes, and journey with them. And even when they behave in disappointing and even abhorrent ways I cannot wholly condemn them. Because I am human, too, and full of my own foibles and failings.
I rejoice with them in those happy moments. I grieve when their end comes. They have become friends, allies, fellow travelers on this fascinating and difficult and unpredictable journey. It is so hard for me to say goodbye that I simply have to Love them into Being.
The artistry of Richard Armitage touches my heart, my mind and my soul. Yes, he is a physically gorgeous man, and I gladly celebrate all that distinctive masculine beauty.
But were it not for the poetry I see within him, in the way he moves and speaks and simply is; were it not for the intelligence, the sensitivity, the humor, the intensity, the tenderness that I see in his face, his eyes, his smile, his hands, his being, all that outward beauty would be nothing but an empty shell. Pretty to look at but ultimately forgettable.
For me, he is unforgettable. He makes me more fully realize what it means to be human. To be humane.
Richard Armitage is poetry . . .
Screencaps courtesy of RichardArmitageNet