Day and Night
My Dearest Lestat,
Appearances can be deceiving, can they not? I have been questioned countless times as to how it is that I am able to live beneath the same roof as you night after night, when the two of us are so very different. Although there is a significant amount of truth to it all, it would also seem that much about us and what we share is completely misunderstood.
To look upon us, side by side presents such a startling contrast. I did not realize the extent of it until I caught a glimpse of us both in a darkened shop window. Being born into the same era, both enriched by the cultures of Paris and New Orleans, one would think that we would have much in common.
Despite this kindred creole blood that runs through our veins, our clothing alone tells two very different stories. You with your long crimson coat open vivaciously wide to reveal that trademark, half-buttoned silk shirt beneath. Those black leather pants you favor that appear to be been painted on. I often wonder on the simple mechanics of how you manage to get into them, yet I have decided that some things are best left unknown. You have always had a flair for the outrageous. You turn heads everywhere you go.
Beside you, I am basic black. I disappear. Contrary to what others might believe, and as far as I have a preference, I drift towards this color not because it is symbolic of the grief that has always plagued my soul but because it allows me to blend into the night, completely unnoticed. I need nothing more than my old, moth-eaten sweaters that you so despise, they are only a necessity, a covering. I long to be completely inconspicuous while you strive to stand out - to have all eyes on you and to be the very center of attention. You have never needed flashy velvet, silk or gold to capture my attention. You hold it infinitely.
Beneath that garish wardrobe of yours burns a marble statue of Adonis, bronzed to perfection by the searing heat of the Gobi sun. Every sculpted muscle glows gold in candlelight and that tanned skin of yours could almost look mortal to one who does not know your true nature. The sight of my pale hand against your tanned flesh, makes me realize just how spectral I must seem. Next to you I seem deathly thin. You know that I often hide beneath layers of clothing to appear a little more substantial. I have been told more than once that I look as if I might easily be carried away on the slightest breeze. You are everything I am not, yet at your side I realize how truly unimportant such differences are.
How often have others tried to describe your eyes? Perhaps not quite as often as you have yourself, yet no words ever seem adequate. For who can describe a tempest or a hurricane if they have not stood in it's midst? Their color seems to change with your mood or to reflect hues from the surfaces around you, but they are always wild and alive. Even when calm and sedate your eyes allude to a storm yet to come. Mine, although you cannot seem to say enough about them, are not emeralds or jewels. They are simple and tranquil like still pools of water. Unremarkable. The lightning in your gaze often sparks the fire in my own, bringing them to life in a way that nothing else can.
You are an efficient predator, a perfect killer - the vampire that I could never be. It is as though you were born to be what you are. Physically you are built for speed and power. Like a wild cat you stalk your prey, watching and listening with senses so proficient that they rival that of any other creature under God. You are stone and iron yet beneath that cold, inhuman surface burns a fiery passion unlike any I have ever encountered before. You crave humanity more than anything else and you have achieved it in a way that most of us will never comprehend.
If there is one thing I will never understand, it is why I am so often referred to as the most “human” of our kind. There may have been a time - long ago, when I was as weak and as frail as mortals are, yet I have always been cold and dead inside. This apathy leads me to kill with an unspeakable ferocity. There is not even the smallest trace of humanity left in me now. If I should ever seek a reminder of the compassion and morality that blazed within my soul before I stepped into this endless night, I need only look to you.
Our differences extend far beyond the physical, don't they, mon amour? Our personalities and points of view can clash like fire and ice.
You exist beneath harsh, florescent lights. Even now in this house which was once lit by lamps and warmed by a fire in the hearth, I can hear the low buzz of electricity. You are fascinated with twentieth-century technology. You bask in the glow of a computer screen and drift on the mechanized hum of this modern world. You are as comfortable in cyberspace as you are in the physical realm. I prefer reading books by candlelight to virtual prose on a glowing screen. I write letters with ink and paper rather than by clicking away on these plastic keys. I have always envied your ability to move along effortlessly, in perfect harmony with the passing years.
How many times have I pleaded with you to turn down the volume on the television or the stereo? It is impossible to convince you that not all the world enjoys thumping beat of a bass drum or the wail of an electric guitar as much as you do. That's not to say that we do not share some similar tastes in music, I simply have no need to hear it as loudly as you do. Your music is symbolic of the way you live. It is vibrant and powerful. It forces all the world to take notice.
I prefer to keep to my shadows in quiet contemplation. Silence is golden, or so the saying goes. It is a rare commodity in this modern world of flashing lights, screaming sirens and the many other technological annoyances which assault these fine-tuned senses on a nightly basis. However, there are some nights when the silence closes in, weighing down on me until I feel as if there is no where left to turn. In those moments, it is the pounding rhythm of your soul draws me back to the waking world.
You live for the moment. You always have. For as long as I have known you I have rarely heard you speak of the past. What's done is done. You do not mourn for that which is already lost, you simply close the book and begin a new chapter. In that same way, you never worry for the future. Instead of wasting time musing over what is yet to come, you devote all of your energy to the present. You thrive on change even as I sometimes dread it. If I can admit one thing it is that I tend to dwell in the past far more often than I should. Although I have always managed to adapt, I am trapped by choice in my own decadent time. When the years guide me into a deepening confusion one thought keeps me moving forward - throughout the past, present and into the future, you are the one constant in my life.
What is the future built upon if not dreams? And who in this world has more extravagant dreams than you? Who would have ever believed that you would sell four million albums to become a rock star - the mortal equivalent of a god? Ah, but that is not the only thing which you have dreamed into reality. The list goes on. You regained your lost mortality and saw the sun in a way the rest of us can only imagine. Your dreams do not exist only within the boundaries your mind, you live them on a nightly basis. You dream in color while my dreams are black and white. They are printed upon parchment and bound in leather. I lose myself within my books until the world around me ceases to exist at all. Your dreams - as outlandish as they may be - show me what it is to truly live.
You are wildly impulsive. Far too often, you act without a thought, driven by instinct alone. Like a tornado, you tear through the world leaving destruction in your wake as you strive to attain exactly what you want. You live life on a whim yet you never fail to achieve your desired goal. I often find myself taken aback by your impetuous nature. I am no stranger to passion, I feel it just as strongly as you do. I will not deny that there have been moments when I have acted irrationally but unlike you, I make every effort to consider the consequences beforehand. Although I shall always hold fast to this unwavering faith in karma and retribution, there are times when you make me want to throw caution to the wind.
Nothing thrills you more than a good argument. This knowledge has been gained from many years of experience. Oftentimes, I believe that you go out of your way to start a confrontation. You feed on it as if rage and anger alone could sustain you. I, on the other hand, avoid conflict at all costs. I know all too well that my passivity can infuriate you at times, but understand that the battles I fight each night are within my mind. The war that rages in my thoughts is already lost or won far before it ever makes it's way to the surface. You have always been able to provoke me like no other. When the dam to this cool reserve is breached, take pride in the fact that you are most often the cause of it.
Shall I speak of truth and honesty? For as long as we have known one another, you have rarely ever lied to me outright - and on those rare occasions when you have, you are always quick to confess. You may not willingly offer information, but you have never intentionally deceived me. I wish I could say the same, but for once I cannot cast the first stone. My record for candor is atrocious. Dishonesty is simply another of my many faults. I have never meant to mislead you, but there are times when I cannot face the facts. When reality is simply too much to endure and I hide behind this wall of lies, you represent the very truth I need.
Night and day, black and white, fire and ice - call it what you will. You have never once claimed that an eternity at your side would be easy to endure. In fact, there are times when it seems thoroughly impossible. Through the passing years, I have learned to respect these little contrasts and idiosyncrasies, even when they attempt to drive us further apart. In fact, I have grown rather fond of them.
There are times when these glaring differences make it feel as though we are worlds apart, even when you are no further than an arm's reach away. Yet as the sun begins to rise and all of the night's anger and resentment fades away, it is those very same differences which draw us closer together in the end.
Always yours,
Louis.
Appearances can be deceiving, can they not? I have been questioned countless times as to how it is that I am able to live beneath the same roof as you night after night, when the two of us are so very different. Although there is a significant amount of truth to it all, it would also seem that much about us and what we share is completely misunderstood.
To look upon us, side by side presents such a startling contrast. I did not realize the extent of it until I caught a glimpse of us both in a darkened shop window. Being born into the same era, both enriched by the cultures of Paris and New Orleans, one would think that we would have much in common.
Despite this kindred creole blood that runs through our veins, our clothing alone tells two very different stories. You with your long crimson coat open vivaciously wide to reveal that trademark, half-buttoned silk shirt beneath. Those black leather pants you favor that appear to be been painted on. I often wonder on the simple mechanics of how you manage to get into them, yet I have decided that some things are best left unknown. You have always had a flair for the outrageous. You turn heads everywhere you go.
Beside you, I am basic black. I disappear. Contrary to what others might believe, and as far as I have a preference, I drift towards this color not because it is symbolic of the grief that has always plagued my soul but because it allows me to blend into the night, completely unnoticed. I need nothing more than my old, moth-eaten sweaters that you so despise, they are only a necessity, a covering. I long to be completely inconspicuous while you strive to stand out - to have all eyes on you and to be the very center of attention. You have never needed flashy velvet, silk or gold to capture my attention. You hold it infinitely.
Beneath that garish wardrobe of yours burns a marble statue of Adonis, bronzed to perfection by the searing heat of the Gobi sun. Every sculpted muscle glows gold in candlelight and that tanned skin of yours could almost look mortal to one who does not know your true nature. The sight of my pale hand against your tanned flesh, makes me realize just how spectral I must seem. Next to you I seem deathly thin. You know that I often hide beneath layers of clothing to appear a little more substantial. I have been told more than once that I look as if I might easily be carried away on the slightest breeze. You are everything I am not, yet at your side I realize how truly unimportant such differences are.
How often have others tried to describe your eyes? Perhaps not quite as often as you have yourself, yet no words ever seem adequate. For who can describe a tempest or a hurricane if they have not stood in it's midst? Their color seems to change with your mood or to reflect hues from the surfaces around you, but they are always wild and alive. Even when calm and sedate your eyes allude to a storm yet to come. Mine, although you cannot seem to say enough about them, are not emeralds or jewels. They are simple and tranquil like still pools of water. Unremarkable. The lightning in your gaze often sparks the fire in my own, bringing them to life in a way that nothing else can.
You are an efficient predator, a perfect killer - the vampire that I could never be. It is as though you were born to be what you are. Physically you are built for speed and power. Like a wild cat you stalk your prey, watching and listening with senses so proficient that they rival that of any other creature under God. You are stone and iron yet beneath that cold, inhuman surface burns a fiery passion unlike any I have ever encountered before. You crave humanity more than anything else and you have achieved it in a way that most of us will never comprehend.
If there is one thing I will never understand, it is why I am so often referred to as the most “human” of our kind. There may have been a time - long ago, when I was as weak and as frail as mortals are, yet I have always been cold and dead inside. This apathy leads me to kill with an unspeakable ferocity. There is not even the smallest trace of humanity left in me now. If I should ever seek a reminder of the compassion and morality that blazed within my soul before I stepped into this endless night, I need only look to you.
Our differences extend far beyond the physical, don't they, mon amour? Our personalities and points of view can clash like fire and ice.
You exist beneath harsh, florescent lights. Even now in this house which was once lit by lamps and warmed by a fire in the hearth, I can hear the low buzz of electricity. You are fascinated with twentieth-century technology. You bask in the glow of a computer screen and drift on the mechanized hum of this modern world. You are as comfortable in cyberspace as you are in the physical realm. I prefer reading books by candlelight to virtual prose on a glowing screen. I write letters with ink and paper rather than by clicking away on these plastic keys. I have always envied your ability to move along effortlessly, in perfect harmony with the passing years.
How many times have I pleaded with you to turn down the volume on the television or the stereo? It is impossible to convince you that not all the world enjoys thumping beat of a bass drum or the wail of an electric guitar as much as you do. That's not to say that we do not share some similar tastes in music, I simply have no need to hear it as loudly as you do. Your music is symbolic of the way you live. It is vibrant and powerful. It forces all the world to take notice.
I prefer to keep to my shadows in quiet contemplation. Silence is golden, or so the saying goes. It is a rare commodity in this modern world of flashing lights, screaming sirens and the many other technological annoyances which assault these fine-tuned senses on a nightly basis. However, there are some nights when the silence closes in, weighing down on me until I feel as if there is no where left to turn. In those moments, it is the pounding rhythm of your soul draws me back to the waking world.
You live for the moment. You always have. For as long as I have known you I have rarely heard you speak of the past. What's done is done. You do not mourn for that which is already lost, you simply close the book and begin a new chapter. In that same way, you never worry for the future. Instead of wasting time musing over what is yet to come, you devote all of your energy to the present. You thrive on change even as I sometimes dread it. If I can admit one thing it is that I tend to dwell in the past far more often than I should. Although I have always managed to adapt, I am trapped by choice in my own decadent time. When the years guide me into a deepening confusion one thought keeps me moving forward - throughout the past, present and into the future, you are the one constant in my life.
What is the future built upon if not dreams? And who in this world has more extravagant dreams than you? Who would have ever believed that you would sell four million albums to become a rock star - the mortal equivalent of a god? Ah, but that is not the only thing which you have dreamed into reality. The list goes on. You regained your lost mortality and saw the sun in a way the rest of us can only imagine. Your dreams do not exist only within the boundaries your mind, you live them on a nightly basis. You dream in color while my dreams are black and white. They are printed upon parchment and bound in leather. I lose myself within my books until the world around me ceases to exist at all. Your dreams - as outlandish as they may be - show me what it is to truly live.
You are wildly impulsive. Far too often, you act without a thought, driven by instinct alone. Like a tornado, you tear through the world leaving destruction in your wake as you strive to attain exactly what you want. You live life on a whim yet you never fail to achieve your desired goal. I often find myself taken aback by your impetuous nature. I am no stranger to passion, I feel it just as strongly as you do. I will not deny that there have been moments when I have acted irrationally but unlike you, I make every effort to consider the consequences beforehand. Although I shall always hold fast to this unwavering faith in karma and retribution, there are times when you make me want to throw caution to the wind.
Nothing thrills you more than a good argument. This knowledge has been gained from many years of experience. Oftentimes, I believe that you go out of your way to start a confrontation. You feed on it as if rage and anger alone could sustain you. I, on the other hand, avoid conflict at all costs. I know all too well that my passivity can infuriate you at times, but understand that the battles I fight each night are within my mind. The war that rages in my thoughts is already lost or won far before it ever makes it's way to the surface. You have always been able to provoke me like no other. When the dam to this cool reserve is breached, take pride in the fact that you are most often the cause of it.
Shall I speak of truth and honesty? For as long as we have known one another, you have rarely ever lied to me outright - and on those rare occasions when you have, you are always quick to confess. You may not willingly offer information, but you have never intentionally deceived me. I wish I could say the same, but for once I cannot cast the first stone. My record for candor is atrocious. Dishonesty is simply another of my many faults. I have never meant to mislead you, but there are times when I cannot face the facts. When reality is simply too much to endure and I hide behind this wall of lies, you represent the very truth I need.
Night and day, black and white, fire and ice - call it what you will. You have never once claimed that an eternity at your side would be easy to endure. In fact, there are times when it seems thoroughly impossible. Through the passing years, I have learned to respect these little contrasts and idiosyncrasies, even when they attempt to drive us further apart. In fact, I have grown rather fond of them.
There are times when these glaring differences make it feel as though we are worlds apart, even when you are no further than an arm's reach away. Yet as the sun begins to rise and all of the night's anger and resentment fades away, it is those very same differences which draw us closer together in the end.
Always yours,
Louis.