The archive of the forgotten

Would you still love me if I were insane

I am staring at the ceiling as I am listening to asleep by the smiths. I close my eyes, they are still leaking tears. I wonder if that's supposed to be possible or if I have broken the shell of a human I am supposed to be. Have I ascended to nothing more than sadness with a face? I wonder if the boy I once was would still be able to recognise me. Would he be appaled? Would he de sad? Would he care? I care, how could somebody not care?

And that's why I don't understand you my leo, my love, you don't have to pretend to love me while insane. If you do not see how I have changed I wonder if you've ever known me. but Have I over known me There's a theory of my existence, a blueprint, a concept, but has there ever been a real product or have I always mastered acting like the facts I was told to be?

I put my hand on my face and have the sudden urge to rip the skin from my it to reveal what is underneath, to dig a hole in my bloody heart in search of something that fits the human concept of a soul. But what fits the human concept of a soul? What fits the concept or a human? What if I do not have one because they do not consider me a human? What if I am considered a tragedy, a character, a string of words in the concept of poetry, or prose, it depends who you might ask. I am disintigrating in the middle of my what I once deemed life, it was mine, not others, not medecines, not readers, mine, I was the ruler of my fate, my wisdom and philosophy. My fucking life.

And now I am nothing but the puppet in the middle of the stage. A body double is not the actor, a muse is not the writers, a model is not the art, the characters are not the writer. I am not my life, my life is me. Is it me? I wish it would leave me alone, I wish I knew what to say myself to get myself out of the trance of self-hatred and pity. My trance is neglected when I feel a shift in weight on the matress. I open my eyes. And the first thing I feel is a tender hand on my face, proving to myself I still exist.

"Hello darling."
I find the will in my heart to smile, but he can see that it does not look like his partner.
"Ezra? what's bothering you?" He asks.
"Leo, I..." I sigh and look him in his beautiful bright blue eyes, th eyes I would recognise in another life, in another era, in life, death, and the limbo I am in now. "Why do you love me Leo?" I ask with a slight break in my voice, a voice once threatening but warm has changed into nothing but mist of despair.

'Because your smile lights up my life, your tears move my core, your words show me kindnedss and you make me a better person. You make me adore the things in lire I hate and you have an opinion on the things I love. You are the other half, you complete the part I've been looking for. You are your own person an that is the perfect addition to the full person I am. You are perfect, whoever and however you will turn be or will turn into."

I look at him, I know the answer to the question I am going to ask but i need to ask it anyway.  my check. "Would you still love me if I were insane?"
"I would love you even if you were the one who murdered me."
"I feel insane in ways I can't explain." I whisper as he puts his for head against mine.
"You don't have to explain. I will be here through every step. I will never deem you insane my love. Even if the odds tell us otherwise,'

We lie theres for ten minutes. His heavy head resting on my chest as it heaves itself up and down, like tantalus reaching for his fruit. I stare at the same ceiling and it feels like an awful déjà vu. I love my leon, but it changes nothing. I have all the pieces for the life I've always wanted, I am amongst the fortunate few to have everything their small diseased heart desires but I do not fit in the puzzle. The pieces are perfect, but I am not. In another life, maybe, in another body perhaps, in another universe, I would fit and my desired puzzle would finally come to pass. I do not want the life I always wanted, I want to rest. My soul has died while my body is still breathing.

"Would you be mad at me if I killed myself Leo?" I ask, not moving muscle, scared that the answer is yes and if it would be the broken pieces of my partner would fall onto me.
"I would be sad, I would be heart broken, I would mourn you, but I would never ever blame you." "I love you Leo," I whisper in his ear. "You should go out to eat tomorrow."

He understands the hint and looks at me with despair in his eyes. His beautiful eyes, eyes that have lit up my life when no one else or nothing else could.

"Do you think I would recognise you in your new life" Leo asks, staring at the ceiling just like me, for the same reason I have been staring at it. Avoidance. feelings, it will forever be in the eyes, not because it leads you to the soul, but because the reaction is harder to hide, because truth is, we need our eyes, a hand, is not always handy, lips can be retired and listening seems to be notning much of a priority for half the world. Whether it is seeing beauty or seeing the bludgeoning of life we need our eyes. We need to show our blueprint, to see, to know, to understand.

'I will be the boy with the white carnation as a corsage, he would look like hell, and he would finally have the courage to ask for help. And he will recognise you to as a friend he has lost long ago. And your eyes will give him hope, and your smile will tell him he is in control. And than, you will know.."

Our eyes both stare at the ceiling, our hands clasped into each other like the promise we will never get to make. Silence haunting the room like the most brilliant of symphonies of Bach, but it is beautiful silence, understanding silence, humming silence, doomed silence.

"What kind of flowers do you want for your funeral?" He asks
I look him in the eyes, as if he has just proposed to me instead of agreed to my death.
"You have no idea how I love you." I say as I put my hand on his cheek.

'Peonies' I say after a short silence. The ones we wanted for our wedding. The ones we had in our first home, the ones that we had too many of when his parents stopped our wedding. Peonies, the ones that remind me of him.

He still loves me now that I am insane