To my Dearest Friend

the grief of not understanding

Yves montague

The rest of the evening is filled with booze and laudanum, that last one is not uncommon with people like Leopold. I didn't want to drink today but when Akiva went to our hotel because he was too tired and I was alone with the three others they convinced me. I stumble through the corridor, I regret every drop of it. I can barely stand. I open the door of my room and stumble to the bed, thankful I even arrived here safely. I have no idea why I celebrated something that deep inside only makes me want to crawl inside a hole an die, I wish I could run away, run away till the wind carries me to something that strictly doesn't exist but will in my delusional mind. Let me live in the world I once have deemed a silly little fantasy. Let me live in a world without agony. Without shame. Without this longing I am trying to purge out of my blood and heart.

I have a strange beating sensation in my mind, it feels like with every beat the my visions becomes worse and goes back to normal again. I walk to the bathroom, but with every step the world seems to slow down. I don't hear anything clearly it's like my head is underwater, forced to swallow more water till the only thing it's made awae of it is the lack of oxygen. with every step it gets worse, the only thing I can still hear is my heavy breathing, I feel like the world is turning away under my feet just like everybody I have loved would turn away if they would see what state I am in. They would try to forget and no would dare to say my name again. I finally arrive in the bathroom I turn on the tap and look in the mirror. My voice makes a shrieking sound popping my ears. It looks like my flesh is skin being burned away by acid. I dig my nails into the flesh, What is this? I am trembling, my whole body seems to reflect the state of mind I am in. I feel the salty tears burn in my skin. I have never been so confused and worried in my life, I can barely breathe.

I hear someone entering my room. 'Yves? I notice it'sAakiva. I am hyperventilating, what is this? is this hell? Am I in hell? Am I dead? Am I dying? I am in utter panic. Akiva is blurry as he enters the bathroom. He grabs by shoulders. 'What did you do? I hear far away, I shake my head I want to answer but nothing is seems to work. After a minute of struggling I manage to say. 'my skin! He frowns, 'I don't see anything.' I feel myself falling but I can't fight it as I hit my head on the cold floor. 'Yves?' I hear.

I have wished death upon myself and now that it that seems to be here I am utterly terrified, that proves wishing for something means we don't actually want it we want our version of it. My version of death was simple, it was peace. But now it does not feel peaceful at all. It feels like a fight of power between two forces I don't understand, two forces I do not wish to carry with me. I don't want to be alive, but it seems I am not ready to die. I feel a cold tear run down my temple. It's the only thing I feel. I don't feel anything. I don't want to feel anything, this is the high I've wished for, this numbing feeling of giving up was simply what I wanted. Perhaps this is just what I've desired for so long, the ability of being able to give up without scrutiny. If I would die because of a natural cause I would be content with my life. Would I be happy with my life? I wonder....

Cyril Courtenay

I look at the ceiling, I pour myself a glass of whiskey. I miss Yves.....I miss Yves. I miss myself. I want to get myself, I want to understand myself again. 'Have you ever truly and earnestly understood yourself my rain?' I hear behind me, I turn around. It's a ghost of Yves, sometimes I try to make sense of things by imagining he is here. I used to do it everytime we were't together, I didn't do it since I left for France, I didn't need it, or at least I thought so. 'It's alright to need me.' he says smiling. I sit in the chair across from him and look in his transluscent eyes. He smiles a distant smile.

'I don't understand anymore, I wish to make it up to him but I do not want to hurt him again. I should leave you alone.' I look at him desperate for an answer but he only looks at me. Waiting for me to figure it out on my own, just like Yves would do. 'Some things are still beautiful when broken' It makes me so sad. I wish I had more time with him. I had him by my side just a day ago and I did not dare to start this very same conversation. If I could only have said what I wanted. This is all my fault I should've made it clear that I also struggle with this but what did I do? I walked onto the beach, letting him drown only for me to die from exhaustion in a desert a few steps away from him, but both unable to see the others misery. Why? because we both felt too lonely while we never truly were alone. 'I just want you back in my house talking to me about things you adore and I don't and won't understand. But your passion for them makes it worth listening to you, I could never have asked for a more beautiful soul to share such a long time with and now th that it's over I feel so...

I feel so....

Hollow.'

like the promise of happiness I gave you never has been true. All these memories are tainted by a ripping feeling of guilt.

and still I remember so many thing, I remember that one morning. He was tracing the lines on my hands with his finger and eventually weaved his fingers through mine. 'Can I tell you something Cyril?' I nodded 'I am scared of loving.' He whispered, that statement confused me, I did not understand it at all. His eyes fill with tears 'See, I give something so precious to you, so fragile and I have no garantuee you will treat it accordingly. But I've chosen you to do it nonetheless because even if you don't I believe you could make me whole. Even if my heart would break you would make me whole. I am not scared of loving, I am scared of not being in control, I am scared of not understanding, or not being able to live when we stop loving'

And right he was.

Yves montague

I feel my ears pop as I wake up again. 'Yves' Akiva exclaims, hugging me with tears in his eyes. 'You stupid lobcock bastard. You could've died! He says with the tears seeping through his anger and worry streaming over his face 'Give me the damn bottle Yves!' he yells softly, but oh so heartbroken. I give the laudanum to him, I know I don't need to try to convince him otherwise. A half year ago I would do the same for somebody else. I used to have common sense. I hate myself. How I've changed.