To my Dearest Friend

beautiful demise

Yves Montague

The morning sun shines onto my numb face, trying to warm my heart I have so desperately frozen in time and space. Akiva is impatiently trying to get me to walk faster but even if I wanted to I wouldnt know If it would be possible. My body doesn't feel like mine, it feels like a marionette of my common sense, my mind says to deny my feelings and forget everything, but since when did it make sense for me to listen to my mind. My mind has always been a traitor that convinces you of something that will never feel right.

I have never felt so tired, my body feels on the age of death. The wish of death. My heart feels like it is on the edge of hopelessness while strangely still having too much hope. I was kidding myself when I felt hope. Deep, Deep down I did feel hope but that hope was shattered again and again. It was as frail as a flower that is slowly withering.

I would commit a murder if it would make me forget yesterday. I would do anything to feel like myself again.

I take a deep breath, swallow my tears, fears and sadness and quicken the pace I am walking in. Akiva smiles. My head hurts, it pounds on it's doors as if my mind is trying to escape his ever-lasting prison. Just like my heart will always beat in it's cage.

We arrive at the brilliant structure of the Le louvre, my eyes feel dry while looking at it, it moves me, the brilliance of the building itself, the attention to detail, how many people must have given this their time and expertise to make this. The grandiose building looks like a work of art itself. It's truly amazing, It's as if you are about to be welcomed into a completely different world. A world without emotions but only beauty. Maybe this will help me forget.

 Akiva spots Cyril, I must say I spotted him already but I did not have the energy nor nerve to approach him. I wish I didn't have to, I wish we would stay there, looking at eachother for the rest of our lives, loving eachother from a distance, a heartbreaking unobtaining love. The whole world would go on and we would stay there, in the heat and cold of the seasons, the rain of our hearts, the coldness of the hopelessness. The only thing keeping me warm would be cruel fire in my heart consuming my mind and body, burning down my common sense, my life and my hope. We would love eachother, admiring eachother but not having the weight of words, of emotions. We would perhaps be happy maybe in melancholic longing but happier than we are now.

Émile hugs Akiva, quite surprisingly, and after that he hugs me. Such a kind gesture, though it feels like I am suffocating. It feels strange, the embrace of this men I have hated with all my being while knowing he is a good men, while knowing him from my childhood. While knowing he would deserve the world. But he does not deserve Cyril and he does not deserve to get his heart broken either. Cyril embraces me and I feel the same cursed sinful feeling I have forbidden myself to feel ever again in my life. Don't react Yves. Don't show it, keep yourself in check. I feel like I am walking a tightrope of doubt above a sea of sadness That same sea of sadness seems to have a charybdis of pain and suffering and several sirens of delusions and desire calling me in. But alas, I smile and put my mask on and today we shall look at the beautiful artworks of so many people. Perhaps I will find an artwork that expresses love more easily than we humans do, perhaps I will find something that makes this agony slightly less lonely. Perhaps here I'll find a candle to guide me in the darkness, maybe I'll find a half rotten part of driftwood to keep me alive in this storm.

I have never seen so much beauty on one place. It's like a gallery of human emotions, of the human perfection of imperfection. It's like you are standing in the middle of the universe looking at all the stars asking yourself how come they are all so beautiful. I am baffled by the absolute ethereal spirit in the halls full of artwork from old times. I wish I could dance through this halls, I wish I could smell the forgotten brilliance of everything.