To my Dearest Friend

The courtyard heartbreak

Cyril courtenay

I see him sitting in the courtyard or the university with his familiar beige suit, I smile. I am so happy to see him again. My heart has been missing him and my mind has been trying to forget but I know it could never succeed in it. I feel as if  I put my hand on his shoulder, the moment it touches he turns to me, his face is thinner than I can remember, it looks like a shadow of who he once was, his eyes are crying. The lights I adore have gone from his eyes, all that is left is a dim light of...... anger? all that is left is a frightening reflection.

His expression doesn't change when he sees me. 'There you are' He simply says. I smile as I put my hand on his soft cheek. 'We can fix this Yves, I really believe we can. Please, don't torture yourself, don't do this to yourself you don't deserve it.' He scoffs, chuckles and throws away his cigarette. He smiles while his brows are still furrowed. He smile is almost cynical. 'I didn't do this to myself' He says and looks at me with tears in his eyes. 'You know that, you know who did this. You did!' As he says that I feel a dagger of emotions rip through my heart. It's like his voice is echoing through my mind, slowly driving me insane. 'Don't act as if you didn't know you broke my heart when you told me about Emile? You broke me. The way you kissed emile. Don't tell me you believed me what when I said I was happy for you. I was constantly wishing you back but you did not seem to hear, I was here all that time. I was still in love, I don't know how not to be. I can't stand this life without you but I do not forgive you, at all. I won't forgive you. not yet and perhaps I won't ever.' I feel tears streaming down my cheeks. He looks up at my face. 'It hurts doesn't it? being denied.' I nod. 'Well I don't recommend using alcohol to resolve it. It doesn't work but you won't be able to stop either.' I look at him. 'I am so sorry.' His expression changes from numbness to anger as he stands up 'I would have given you the world Cyril, you knew that. And what have you given me? nothing. Nothing but utter heartache! Leave me now, I don't need any more problems. I do not need an anchor dragging me into the sea.' 'Yves please! You can't always see the bad in people.' he smiles 'The problem is I've never been wrong.'

I wake up, I am surprised to find that I am sitting in the carriage heading to London, nowhere near the university. It was only a dream, I think as I smile. I haven't met Yves in england. We seem to have I have been avoiding eachother like the plague. I would like to see him again and I do not want him to see him again. My feelings are like fire burning on water, they shouldnt go together. But it is reality. It is like sun and rain making a rainbow. But I do not want to meet him. Which in turn means I am mostly at home with the silent figure that is my father but could also be a statue, I want to get some new books and clothes. I hope I don't run into anyone but I hope I'll see him, just from a safe distance. Where he won't see me.

I close my eyes. I wish he would be standing behind me again, resting his hand on the back of my head, watching the beautiful storm that was coming. Looking at the strong waves crashing into the stone and asking yourself whether love is like a wave slowly eroding the stone. watching the storm that was about to come, not thinking I was that storm. I have always been that storm. You would stand there, full of pride, full of love me and I, I was sitting there with so much doubt. Did I have doubt? please say that I didn't.

I can't believe I've been back in lonely England for about a month. It's so infinetely strange to be so lonely in the place I was once the happiest, My father has not spoken a word to me since I have come back, not that i really expected him to. but maybe i had the fragile hop that he missed me. but as i said that hope was easily shattered the moment I saw him again.

 I walk into a bookshop. Yves would always recommend books, now I have absolutely no clue what i am lookin for. I look through all the books and can hardly find any good or new ones. when I stumble on a relatively small but thick green book, it's beautifully binded. I look at the title, 'The woes of being foolish' I chuckle, perfect for me. I open it and I immediately see the dedication, it says: to all the extremely foolish geniuses and for my dearest rain. I frown. What a coincedence. I look at the front page when my eyes widen. Yves wrote this, I feel a smile surrounding my lips and a tear falling. I buy the book, it feels like I am carrying a part of Yves on me right now, I hold it close to my heart. The place where it belongs. I can't believe Yves got what he wanted, he must be so proud. He must be so succesful. He must be so happy without me. I really hope he is happy without me, I shake my head. Of course he is happier without me and still while making me happy it also saddens me.

I open the green book and smell the fresh pages of ink and knowledge. Surprise me sunlight. I smile as I read the first sentence. 'Dumb people always seem to think they are smart, smart people always seem to think they are dumb the only people aware of their reality are fools. What is the difference between being dumb and foolish you might ask. Well it's simple, dumb comes from a lack of knowledge foolishness comes from innocence.' It instantly intrigues me, he is a good writer. I like the way he intrepreted that. The words are tangled within the fabric of my soul but he has the ability to unravel them for me. It's like I am holding his soul yet again. I am holding him yet again.

I have never been a big reader. put this book is brilliant I can't stop, I can't put it away I even annotate it. What is happening to me am I turning into Yves I ask myself jokingly. Perhaps I am, and that wouldn't be prticularly bad, I take the book everywhere I go in the house. I am reading with while eating, brushing my teeth, while I am supposed to be gardening. The sun is done with shining, it's late in the evening when I finally finish the book. My tears streaming down my cheeks as the main character, his name is Albion drowns in the lake after his last heartwrenching talk with his father, the way Yves describes the drowning you would ask yourself if he had tested it out so he can write it accurately. I realise that everything in that book seems too familiar. All the manors he describes are his homes, all the people he paints are ones I know. This is a testimony of dread, a letter to his father. A gesture to raise himself above the shame he has about everything that has happened to him in an effort to liberate people including himself. I smile, I think It has worked,