To my Dearest Friend

imaginary

Yves Montague

'Thank you so much for the tea and the hospitality.' I say to Katherina bidding her goodbye with a kiss on the hand. I smile as she hands me a umbrella. I thank her, 'Will we do something tomorrow?' she asks eager for the answer. 'If you would desire to Katherina, I shall oblige.' She smiles. 'Than I'll see you tomorrow. This time I will be in charge of the planning.' I open the umbrella although the rain isn't that bad anymore. I swerve through the streets. avoiding the simple but depressing fact that I will have to step back into my life and I can't choose to walk the streets forever. I sit down on a bench and look up at the sky. I start to write an imaginary letter.

Dear cyril,

 I can't seem to walk the streets of beautiful Vienna without remembering the seemingly endless snowball fights we'd have in the middle of the night here. The times we'd dance on tabletops which would result in almost breaking our necks while falling off the tables.

I chuckle, and look down, what a beautiful memories I have with him. I cherish them so much but I know, I know I shouldn't do this. But the truth is, it hurts less than seeing it on actual paper.

I've met someone, but she is nothing compared to your love, I honestly thought that I only ever wanted to be loved but it turns out I specifically wanted to be loved, by you. And even though I hate the fact that I can't love you anymore I think I still do.

I frown, that sentence makes no sense, does anything in my head even make sense. I wonder, I wish you were here to assure me I am not driving myself insane, but I am not even sure if you'd think I wouldn't be insane. I don't even think that myself. I lean on my cold hands and close my tear-filled eyes.

Cyril, I feel hopeless, well, most of the time. Katherina seems to take that away but that might simply be the simple art of distraction. And still, even in that distraction, she reminds me of you. She really does, and I am not sure why. Perhaps because I wish she would resemble you or perhaps she really does, and than I will need to ask myself the hard question of would I want to fall in love with you again. I honestly do not know the answer to that my dearest. My rain, my dearest rain, oh so beautiful but o so cold. I still love you, I promise. But I hate myself more.

I look up at the sky and ask myself why I am so afraid to give up. How long could the fall be? How much could the ground hurt? Will I fall in water or unto stone, ripping open my scar riddled back into a bloody mess that could be synonymous to death. How much could the suffocating hurt? could it hurt more than playing pretend with myself, with all of my foolish, childish being. This mask of tragedy. I wonder.

Your dearest, Yves Montague

I look up at the rain falling onto my face, kisses of him. Kisses of misery. My salty tears mix with the bittersweet drops of the heavens cries and blessings. He knows I love him still, every fool would know. I feelmy mask relaxing for a moment. Not afraid to show anything for just a minute, here as a nobody. With so much animosity I am not afraid to be hurt, how strange. I feel safer with utter strangers than with people I have known for a long time. My despondent face seems to morph into one of utter sadness, not that you could see much difference. I feel like a woven tapestry which is slowly but surely unwinding into one single thread again, hopeful to be woven into a new one again. I feel like I am blindly trudging through a pitch black room I am expected to know, but the truth is, I don't nor will I ever. I will never understand the room, for me this room, this love, this world, is ever-changing, confusing every reason to have hope.

I am so exhausted, It's not only physically but it's mentally, it is like my whole life. I have carried so many things and I have never noticed it but now that the burden has been taken away everything aches and feels so utterly empty, so utterly light, so utterly hollow. I feel hollow. He still has my heart, even when I wish he hadn't. I have forsaken him as he has forsaken me. No one taking blame but fate. I wonder if this is how orpheus felt when he looked back at Eurydice, he has forsaken her. It was technically not his fault but oh, how it was his fault,. He had lost her because of mistrust, or perhaps he has lost her because of love. It depends how you'd look at it. Perhaps that is the same with my love for him. but if it is love why does it hurt so much?

I feel somebody sitting down next to me. I open my eyes. It's Akiva, I wonder how he has found me. He smiles. 'Wonderful weather isn't it?' He says softly with a chuckle. I am not completly certain whether he means it or it's supposed to be a joke. I feel like something alien to this world, something that has just arrived and doesn't understand the concept of a human being. Perhaps I don't understand, what is a human being? I digress.

'So how was your Breakfast.' Akiva asks, 'Well, the rain decided it was a great day to pester us.' I say with a smile. He nods. 'How are you today Yves?' I shrug, because it's the truth, I genuinely do not know how I feel. I feel half alive but I feel dead, I feel hopeless but I see the possibility of hope. I feel guilty for something that is not necessarily my fault. I feel...... I feel.... too much.

I see that Akiva is looking at me intently and as I look at him I see a tear in his eyes. He pats my shoulder. 'You'll be fine, I an sure of it Yves. You are so strong. You always will be.' I shake my head. 'I'm afraid I won't akiva.' he looks down and knows that it might be the truth, altough he would never admit it.