When Catullus writes of his love, whom he calls Lesbia (an ode to Sappho and the island she called home), he is passionate, obsessive, and sometimes cruel. I first began reading his poetry in my high school Latin class, translating lines of poems that ranged from romantic to funny to pornographic. I became, I think it's fair to say, a bit passionate and obsessive myself, falling for this long-dead poet. I even did my senior project on him, translating a collection of his poems and writing a one act play based on his life and poetry. He was not the only dead Roman I fell for. Ovid, Caesar, and Cicero all pulled on my heart strings too, although Caesar and Cicero were more impressive for their use of rhetorical devices than their flowery language. But, if you'll allow me to conflate admiration with love, Catullus was number one. In high school I was a highly emotional person. And so was Gaius Valerius Catullus. We both felt love and loss so deeply. I also wrote, but I kept my words to myself. Catullus, though, he was brave. He wrote deeply personal works that often revealed some of the less good parts of himself and he still published them. It was by reading him that I understood what I wanted to get out of my writing. It was a way for me to process, yes, but I also wanted to be like him. I wanted others to read my words and connect with them. Because of Catullus' poetry and his bravery, I was able to do my senior project and let my words be performed in front of others. Of course I admire this man because his poetry still had power 2,000 years after his he wrote them.