Now You See Me [Jasper Hale story]

XXIII. Dying A Depression

"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." ― Leonardo da Vinci

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When Seth left, I leaned my back against the door and slid down, to sit on the wooden floor of the hall. Sighing, I crossed my legs in front of myself, thinking about what had happened. My best friend's father died, while my best friend was nowhere near his family, when they were announced the news. Why? Because I was an incredibly lazy, utterly slef-centered and ubelievably slefish asshole, who forced him to come to my house, so there he would help me spend the time of my being alone. Moreover, I greedily made him bring pancakes to me, and for my own, stupid, immature need to kiss him, I managed to ruin him even more. Fuck, I was turning into another picky, selfish, egoistic Bella Swan, who ruined lives of people around her, and after she was done with that, she started ruining the life of her own.

Shit! All of that had to happen, when I was starting to think, that things might finally be going well for me, for the very first time since we moved in. Leaning my head against the door with an audible "thump," I shut my eyes closed. Why did I kiss Seth? I still couldn't get Hale out of my head, for heavens' sake! And what was I thinking when I insisted on his coming to my home? Dammit, the whole universe wasn't spinning around me, and I was aware of that. My actions were so unlike me - the Gwyneth Callaghan I knew and loved dearly - that it knocked the breath out of my lungs. And for that, I started to seek for someone else to put part of the blame on. Fortunately, there were six names that deserved to take the burden. Out of the six names, I picked one, the sound of which was heavenly music to my ears...

Jasper Hale.

Imagining his golden eyes in front of my face stomped my mood low under the ground. Remembering his cold touches on my skin literally twisted my heart through the ribcage. Yet, I hadn't felt like crying. The phase of my life, when tears burned in my eyes with every picture of what my and Hale's relationship might have been like, if he had given it a chance, was long gone. Or at least, that was what I liked to think.
With every single moment similar to this one though, my faith in having gotten through the bastard was fading away.

I sighed again (for the hundreth time that evening), lifting myself up onto my knees, in order to palpate the book Alice gave me on the desk of my table. No matter how much I tried not to think about it, my curiosity won over my realism, as it always did. It was the right time to read some poetry.
Browsing through the pages, I discovered plenty of more or less beautiful poems. There was something unique about the whole collection though, that surprised me very much. To understand, I had never been a huge fan of poetry, since I seldom understood what poets wanted to say through their poems. The only American poet I was able to accept, was Ezra Pound (his collection Personae was the only book of poems in my bookcase); on the other hand, I literally couldn't stand Emily Dickinson, mainly for how unclear and pathetic her poems were.

This particular book nonetheless, was very easy to understand. It was pretty clear that the author - although genuinely unknown - knew exactly what he wanted to express in his masterpiece, and that was something I admired.
My eyes landed on a page with a folded upper corner. It must have been marked by Jasper. Did he like it? Well, if he did, then I wouldn't. The moment I read the first rhyme, my determination to think so wore off slowly...

Manon Lescaut (First act, Knight De Grieux)

Manon is my first and last sin,
Manon has a heart destined to win;
Manon's hands are softly gloved,
not meeting Manon, I wouldn't have loved;
Manon is a riddle of undying victory,
Manon is everything I've rejected bitterly.

Manon is so close. Manon is birch,
Manon is rose thrown into church;
Manon is composer's dearest riff,
For Manon's eyes, I'd jump off the cliff;
Manon, oh Manon, Manon of Arras!
What shall I do to make you avow us?