To my Dearest Friend

Ghosts of silence

akiva meier

I open the blinds. The sun pours into the cold unforgiving room where the ghost of Yves is slowly dying. This sadness I have needs to be hid, I cannot show my own doubt so instead I will says: 'Wake up!' with optimism and joy, so softly but still in an authorative voice. I wonder if he has given up the control of his body. If he is physically able to move but I am proved wrong when He groans and pulls the covers over his head. 'Please, Go away Akival' 'I won't' I say as I sit down and grab some food out of the bag I brought. It consist mostly of fruit, I throw an orange on his head. He groans and sits up.

'Can't you just go?' He asks with his whole trembling, his face riddled with pearl tears. We both know he is convulsing the last second before the ultimate death the poison of love has brought him. I shake my head I cannot let him die.

'I will be here everyday, just to check up on you. He frowns. 'I don't want help.' 'But you know you do need it.' He rolls his eyes and lays back down. 'I do not want help.' I smile as I look at his pale skin, I wonder how long it will take till his skin is transluscent, he won't be going outside so it won't take too long with such a fair skin.  'You already said that' I answer, he chuckles and closes his eyes. 'I've brought some books for you.' Oh and there's a letter for you, I want to say but than I realise who sent it. I take a deep breath. Should I remind him or not?

'Cyril has written to you.' I say. 'Put it on the dresser.' He says without any emotion something that does not happen often with Yves. 'Yves, we are both taking a walk.' I say while throwing trousers and a blouse at him. 'No' 'Yes, you are not a todller. 'After that I will stop bothering you.' 'Do you promise?' He asks. I smile and nod. he puts on the clothes and we leave the manor.

our breaths make elegant clouds of nothingness while we slowly walk through the frosty grass. The grass almost looks like crystals. I see that Yves is looking at the horizon. 'What are you thinking about?' I ask, he sighs and closes his eyes before opening them again and starting to talk.

'I do not understand why this is so much harder than normally, I don't understand why I can't move myself to step out of bed, or eat. or read. I do not know what I am feeling anymore I am not exhausted, well, I don't know. I feel, I feel, feel hopeless.' I simply nod. I do not know how to care for him or how to respond to him, it is like this gaping hole of uncertainty that is slowly but painfully carving through me, through him, through his life. I feel like Yves is slowly floating away, as if he does not care anymore, and why should he? What is there to hold on to? What does he have to stand on? Why shouldn't he fly? why shouldn't he give up?

The cold clouds start to sprinkle beautiful, sprakly, hopeful snow on our shoulders. He stops, I wonder what he is thinking, but I have that a lot with ives, he looks at the nothingness of the barren winter nature in front of him. 'Yves,' 'Hm?' I wonder what I wanted to ask him, I wanted to ask if he is alright, I wanted to ask what I can do to help him, but he probably does not know either of those. How would he know? How does anybody know? Why are we so complicated?

Yves montague

I look at the slowly whitening fields of our estate, I can hardly recognise them, they look more than heaven than this earthly mess we call home. 'Akiva.' 'Yes?' 'Would it be rude if I would ask for a moment alone?' I ask him. He smiles and shakes his head. 'I need to go back home, I'll be back tomorrow.' He walks away. I could've known he would react that way.

I feel an awfully sad smiles of my face as I look at the white blanket smothering all life. Smothering all sound. I close my eyes, I always thought silence could never be absolute, there's alw alwys a sniff, a cough, a bird singing, a baby laughing, a child crying, a human, living, breathing but here with all of the snow dampening the sounds into oblivion it does seem absolute. And however comforting it might be it also makes me sick to my stomach. I hate this purity, the sickenly beauty of this common nature of the world. I hate it with a passion, I wish a foolish bird would interupt this silence, interrupt the strange place where there is too much silence to be filled up with my unsuitable thoughts, thoughts not meant for this paradise.

I look at my hands, the tops of my fingers are blue from the cold, snow falls into the cusp of my hands when suddenly a bird flies into them. It looks at me with it's tiny black eyes. As if it meant to ask me something. And than it flies away, if I feel my feet starting to move, dragging me into hope, into being, I start to run, I want to fly like the bird, I want to spread my wings, my arms and be carried by this cold wind. To a place I have never known, and perhaps never will. Where to dear Bird? Where to?? I stop at the top of a hill, I don't see the bird anymore. but I know where to, to freedom. One lone warm tear falls in the cold snow. Because I cannot follow the bird. I do not have freedom. This paradise has condemmned me when I was born. I do not have wings, I cannot know the winds of hope. The wings of hope carried by the winds of discipline to freedom.

I feel better when I am back in the dark room. There is no descirnable expression on my face my eyes are locked onto the floor, my mind is lost as I try my best to ignore all of the thougnts that race througn it. I take a deep breath when my eyes wander through the room and land on the cello in the corner. I smile and grab it. The instrument is heavy as it's weigh rests on my ribcage, crushing my broken heart as it has been crushed all those times. I tune it and than I ask what to play, what can I play without breaking my own heart, again? I decide on Vivaldi but every single note seems foreign, it seems like it does not mean anything, it they are just simple notes arranged in a specific order. My fingers dance on the strings and my muscles know every movement for the bow. But it does not change this is a melody not a soul, notes arranged to be seem as beautiful. I feel a tear of frustration in my eye as I lose the hope of playing like I normally do. I step back into bed. A tear rolls down my temple and I curse the world full of it's lies and it's condemmable beauty.

How I foolishly wish he was here, How I wish he would be here to comfort me, to be there for me to say that it will all be alright. but I know I do not want him here, I don't want to love him anymore. but I still do, I wish to hate him, I wish to despise him, but how I love him. I am yearning for him. I don;t want to hate me, I want to love him, I dont.....

It is so strange knowing you want to feel two different things.