To my Dearest Friend

My angel and my memories

Cyril Courtenay

I feel frozen in place waiting for him to come back in this city of dreams, I would wait in all weather, I would wait here forever. Still feeling his hand exhuding such loving warmth on my cold face, I want to cry. I loved him more than I have ever loved myself, than I have ever loved myself, he was an angel and I was a foolish mortal praying for him to fall so I could be with him, but when he fell for my love I decided I wanted a real angel, not a fallen one. I want to explain so much, I wish I would not have hurt him so much, he always put me first but I was cruel, I promised him an always that was not real.  I have broken him down again and again and I was too scared to see it. I was too ashamed to see it and now I am standing here: the wind cutting through my clothes, cutting through my heart, my mind and my soul. I am foolish, I am so foolish. I wish I could turn back time, I could erase my mind, my doubt, I wish I could erase myself from his memories.

I wish I would never have disturbed his silence. I am the one who changed the course of the river of his life, a course that his river shouldn't have followed because it won't end in the sea. All of this has been my fault and I have been too cowardly to see that. Well, maybe I saw it but I refused to believe it. but now I see it, perhaps a little too clearly for my faint heart, it feels like the smoke and fog I had produced to make myself comfortable clears, revealing the shattered mirrors of my loved ones. Hopelessly laying on the floor, without the ability to ever be whole again. And yes they're still beautiful but no one dares to pick them up again, afraid to be cut.

I walk through the cold streets of paris, not sure knwoing where I wish to go. I want to disappear in thin air, I want to become fog so the wind will carry me to London so I can look at him for all eternity without needing to be brave enough to love him. But alas, the wind is beckoning to go bark home. To look Émile in the eyes. but I don't want to, I don't want to see the damage I have done. I don't want to see his disappointment in me, his own ultimate disgrace. I want to run away from this war I have set in motion, I want to run away from everything but with every step I take, every chance I would have of running away there's still this judgement cast down from the highest degree. I would not even dare to step a foot in the church again. Perhaps I understand why Yves always refused to enter them, if this is god then I don't want it. Than he is not kind, he is vicious... I look at the sky, what is this poisonous feeling? Should I run or should I stay? What will hurt more. I decide to stay, just for a while. And so I will enter Émile's house

I am surprised to find him standing at the door with a suitcase, he smiles softly, apolegetically. "Where are you going?" I ask, my heart beating with utter fear and my mouth struggling to get the french words out. He smiles and switches to his broken english so it'll be easier for me. 'I will be staying with my parents for a while. You're welcome to join," He looks down. 'Or not, I mean, you've been here for quite a long time, Cyril. when will you be going back to England?" he finishes. I frown with tears in my eyes 'I don't understand my love, I don't want to go back to England, I thought we'd stay in France" I sat "You don't have to. But you're welcome to stay here if you'd like, I don't mind, you can use all the amenities. But I need to find myself Cyril, I'll be sending you a few letters perhaps." I am confused by this sudden doubt he is exhuding. I want to know why he is doing this. Perhaps it's because he sees that I still love Yves. I can't blame him but now I have broken two hearts, making the weight I feel crushing my head and heart even worse. He smiles and kisses me. 'I will miss you so Cyril'

Yves montague

Dear Cyril,

I am not certain if I will ever send this letter. If so, I am not expecting an answer. So please do not give me one, If you do I won't ever read it. This letter is not a way to describe what I hate about your altough that particular letter would be just as lenghty as this one, perhaps even lengthier. but as I said that is not what I want to say in this one. This is simply my stream of thought whenever I hear your beautiful name. Cyril, I wish you were a girl, not always, just sometimes, I have wished and still wish I could love you freely but I don't know whether I would want you to be a women. why? because I love all of you as is. I love you so much, with everything you've done, with every imperfection I still love you. I know, how pathetic. I have always said I am not a romantic but that was a foolish lie to shield myself from this foolish desire. I believed in us, we were so beautiful I love you a lot. You are my perfection still. I wish I would've bitten my tongue, I wish I hadn't said everything I did. I wish...I wish a quite lot, I do, but most of all. I wish you happiness, I wish you joy, I wish you wealth, I wish you health. I wish your life will improve now that I am no longer in it. I hope you'l cherish your life just like we used to do.

I also want to thank you for all the beautiful memories you have created with me, I will  forever cherish them. I will tuck them away safely in the warmth of my mind. I will cherish them so much, I hope you will too because those memoreis deserve to survive even if we do not, if we can not, my rain. So let's cherish the sunlight for a last time, as we will the rain. I will miss you, but I refuse to miss you with pain in my heart. I will be sorry, I am sorry and I am not ashamed to be overcome with guilt. Or at least when I am with you.

Your dear friend,

Yves montague

I look at the letter, trying not to get the tears on it. My handwriting is not as elegant as normal how strange, it almost reflects how I am slowly becoming less and less like myself. I want to wipe the tear from my face but I can't find my handkerchief when an elderly lady hands me one. 'A death or a heartbreak dear boy?' She simply asks. I chuckle as I accept it. 'Heartbreak sadly.' I say with a smile. 'A boy like you? You are far too handsome for that' She says with a motherly smile. 'Well, I wasn't enough for her, I think I did not give her the adventure she was so desperately looking for.' 'Well, young men, I believe it's her loss.' I laugh. 'That is awfully kind of you ma'am.' I give her back her handkerchief. 'Keep it, it seems you'll need it.' I chuckle, that is rigjt I will probably need it. I look at the passing mountains it seems we are almost in Vienna.