Yves montague
I walk through the streets of paris, it's been three days. The newspapers did mention Cyril and his strange 'habits' but everybody has been avoiding the subject. a typical british way of dealing with it, Rumours are great but truth is not as exciting. I am holding a bag full of clothes he forgot and in my other hand I have a boquet of carnations and some other flowers. I personally adore the flowers I have picked up for him. I hope he'll be a happy about it. I know he'll be happy about them.
I walk up to the beautiful flat where he is currently living and ring the bell. He doesn't answer. I knock on the big dark blue door and ring again. 'Don't worry Cyril, It's me Yves.' He doesn't respond, I grab my key and open the door. 'Cyril!' I yell, 'I hope you have no one over!' I say jokingly. He doesn't react, now I am getting worried. I put my jacket on the coat rack and start looking for him, I continuasly call his name but the universe only answers with silence and perhaps the gift of an echo. I can't help but feel nervous, there's a strange feeling in the house that is creeping up on me, I bind my heart tighter to my chest, ready for everything that could've happened.
I try to tell myself that it might be possible that he's simply somewhere in a park, to unwind after a whirlwind of news. I walk up the stairs, the quiet creaks of the each step sound horrible in this bubble of silence, but they also assure me that I haven't gone deaf. The rooms are horribly quiet and don't look like somebody has lived here at all. Could he have gone to another house? Run off to Italy? Never speak to me again? Have I been too hard on him?
I open the door to the library, an involuntary gasp escapes my mouth as the flowers fall on the hard wooden ground. I stare at the shoes, the horribly familiar shoes, I can't get myself to look up, I want to deny it, I want to deny the mere fact that this is real. I want to close the door to the library, open it again and discover him sitting in the green chair that's lying on the floor, simply reading, smiling at me, greeting me and than hugging me. My pale hand is keeping the air in my mouth, hoping I have a chance of suffocation. Planning to deny this for the rest of my life. I take a deep breath and slowly lead my gaze upwards. The green suit is his, the fragile hope I have that it won't be his face is foolish but I can't help it. the crystal tears of guilt escape my eyes as I see the shell of my rain hanging from a rope adorned with beautiful roses. He is not the Cyril I know, he is scaring me. Telling me all I have done wrong. but even if it scares me I can't stop myself. I grab the chair and carefully cut the rope. I slowly put him down, he is still warm. I take off his necklace of hopelessness and hug him. 'Please don't be dead' I beg him although I know better. He is dead, and nothing will return him to me. I caress his beautiful face, singing 'The rose of tralee' As if I am a parent hushing their baby. I close my eyes. 'I wish you knew how much I love you' I whisper grabbing his body tighter, never wanting to let go. I cannot let go. he almost seems asleep, oh my love, my rain, why can't you just be asleep.
I put him down, I try my best to do everything repectfully. I stand up, trying not to to fall down as the whole world topples over. His life is gone, and it feels like mine is too. I put my hand on the desk trying to keep myself standing and I feel a lettter underneath my hand. I know that it's probably for me. I take a deep breath,
My dearest,
Sometimes you cannot see the future anymore. I am quite a certain that you understand what that feels like. I never meant to break your beautiful and fragile heart, I have never meant to let you down or let you go but this road I have led you down feels torturous. I have brought you nothing but misery. I feel guiltx for that my sunlight, you are always such a happy and positive person, well. maybe not. But I have never seen you the way you were after I had forsaken you. It truly broke my heart to see the damage that i had done. In this letter I actually want to set everything straight. You, my sunlight, have never been the problem. I have always been, you and I both know that deep down. I love you, I love you so much, I love you more than the stars love the sky and I love you more than the sun loves the moon. I love you more than the rose loves it's rain, I love you fully and I love you shamelessly. I know you do too but that makes this all the more important. I am not doing this because of you. It is not your fault, in any way, remember that. I love you more than anything.
now, my reasoning for this. I cannot live a life where I cannot be me. I have tried, I truly tried. And all this has made me realise that I will never truly be who I wish to be, Who you deserve and perhaps even what I too deserve to be. So I will pray that we will meet again my sunlight, perhaps in the afterlife, or in another universe, in another time, where you have the same beautiful eyes and the same enchanting voice, but I do not have the same flaws and most importantly a world where this god forsaken society has not the same flaw of keeping lovers at bay.
Remember; not your fault, I love you more than you know, I love you, so so much. I am sorry.
To my dearest sunlight
Cyril Courtenay-Montague
I cry at the sight of my last name combined with the name of the one I would truly want to marry. I wipe away my tears and sit down beside him again. 'Oh my rain, I will miss you so so much.' My soul is pouring out on the floor, hoping it could somehow revive you. The tremors of my hands make me forget my elegance and simply touch your face with a raw desire of the past. what a beautiful dream we have, a world where we could be together, a world where people would respect one another, in every possible way. I hold your limp body in my arms and realise that I should've held you more, before you were cold.