One never loves women or men after all, but rather one quite distinct woman or one man
Edwin Bab, Der Eigene
A blur of faces passes by,
None particularly clear,
Just whirling blurs in the grey city life,
Though half are male, and the others not.
Among these crowds I see none I care for,
There is nothing here but monotony
Until I see, far away,
The one in the greyness who brings new light to me.
Only this person, only this love,
None other than my colours, as the city passes on.
I found the title quote while researching sexuality around 1900 for an essay. Der Eigene was a homophile magazine of the period, and Bab argued that really, there was no way to tell if a heterosexual might, the next time, fall for a man. Were this point of view more widespread, I know a number of people whose lives might have been somewhat easier.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic