Le Conseiller: Ladislav René Slavomir 03
Title: You Were Sublime and Fair
AN: The musing of Ladislav over his only romance.
You were sublime and fair-toned. The sun was reverent in the kisses it gave your skin; the way it ran its finger-rays around your frame. You were a simple woman, with simple tastes, but in no way were you simple minded. No, your mind was as expansive as the heavens, and if one should find your eyes in passing, they would have lost their breath at how they captured them. I composed songs in honor of you, and you alone were the audience to which I played them. Though our time was short in my standards, they were forever for you. I take some comfort in that.
When we danced, we were always the most extravagant, the most applauded. While I took in the rapture that our mismatched audience gave us, you simply bowed your head as if in shame. I finally understood the game you played, the algorithm of those eyes that fluttered so crisply. You were ashamed of how I carried myself or maybe you were ashamed of what I was, and that this should not be. We should not walk the streets the same way; we should not go the same way. Rather you must have imagined that I was the predator circling my prey with cunning ingenuity; that this skipping of a long dead heart was not the truth, but a faulty bulb flickering in a dark room, and soon it would fizzle itself out. Did you really imagine our love as such? As a flickering light bulb? As the ever-changing shadows under a tree when the sun clips through its leaves? As an illusion?
The songs that once barked in sharp tones and beautiful melodies that we were meant to dance to become shadowed monsters. The sounds become slow, as if to play at a funeral. By this time, you were not blushing innocent, but a mature woman who seemed to tire of love. You were how they say, intellectual now and in no need of love that was mythical. I cannot say I was surprised at this turn of events, somewhere down the dirt roads, and cobblestone bridges, I caught a glimpse of something sinister blowing through the forest breeze. Therefore, I departed with a low bow and a smile, my teeth flickering lightly under the street lamp. To everyone around us it was two lovers who were parting for a moment and who would come together again soon. To us, it was our symbol of two people, on constantly aging and one who stayed the same. Of one who had grown to not believe in vampires, and one who had simply blinked and the time was over. I have come back again and again to your sublime nature and fair-toned skin, and I realized that I really did wish I could have grown old with you. That I could have aged, even if only slightly. I wanted you to affect me, and make me feel less lonely, and less like what I was.
“You are just like a bruise on skin. You are subtle at first, and often are passed by without a second glance, yet when you are noticed you are always there reminding us, like the purple coloring of a bruise we wonder how we missed. Yet there comes a time when, for our benefit not yours, that we forget about you once again. And you become a hazy memory never to be remembered, but to you: they are as vivid as the last. That is what makes you so sorrowful to look at; because I can’t help but think how wonderful it will be when you are gone, and yet you’ll always be stuck with the misery and the memory.”
You were always so sublime and beautifully fair-toned.
Yet the bruise still lingers, just beneath the skin.
AN: The musing of Ladislav over his only romance.
You were sublime and fair-toned. The sun was reverent in the kisses it gave your skin; the way it ran its finger-rays around your frame. You were a simple woman, with simple tastes, but in no way were you simple minded. No, your mind was as expansive as the heavens, and if one should find your eyes in passing, they would have lost their breath at how they captured them. I composed songs in honor of you, and you alone were the audience to which I played them. Though our time was short in my standards, they were forever for you. I take some comfort in that.
When we danced, we were always the most extravagant, the most applauded. While I took in the rapture that our mismatched audience gave us, you simply bowed your head as if in shame. I finally understood the game you played, the algorithm of those eyes that fluttered so crisply. You were ashamed of how I carried myself or maybe you were ashamed of what I was, and that this should not be. We should not walk the streets the same way; we should not go the same way. Rather you must have imagined that I was the predator circling my prey with cunning ingenuity; that this skipping of a long dead heart was not the truth, but a faulty bulb flickering in a dark room, and soon it would fizzle itself out. Did you really imagine our love as such? As a flickering light bulb? As the ever-changing shadows under a tree when the sun clips through its leaves? As an illusion?
The songs that once barked in sharp tones and beautiful melodies that we were meant to dance to become shadowed monsters. The sounds become slow, as if to play at a funeral. By this time, you were not blushing innocent, but a mature woman who seemed to tire of love. You were how they say, intellectual now and in no need of love that was mythical. I cannot say I was surprised at this turn of events, somewhere down the dirt roads, and cobblestone bridges, I caught a glimpse of something sinister blowing through the forest breeze. Therefore, I departed with a low bow and a smile, my teeth flickering lightly under the street lamp. To everyone around us it was two lovers who were parting for a moment and who would come together again soon. To us, it was our symbol of two people, on constantly aging and one who stayed the same. Of one who had grown to not believe in vampires, and one who had simply blinked and the time was over. I have come back again and again to your sublime nature and fair-toned skin, and I realized that I really did wish I could have grown old with you. That I could have aged, even if only slightly. I wanted you to affect me, and make me feel less lonely, and less like what I was.
“You are just like a bruise on skin. You are subtle at first, and often are passed by without a second glance, yet when you are noticed you are always there reminding us, like the purple coloring of a bruise we wonder how we missed. Yet there comes a time when, for our benefit not yours, that we forget about you once again. And you become a hazy memory never to be remembered, but to you: they are as vivid as the last. That is what makes you so sorrowful to look at; because I can’t help but think how wonderful it will be when you are gone, and yet you’ll always be stuck with the misery and the memory.”
You were always so sublime and beautifully fair-toned.
Yet the bruise still lingers, just beneath the skin.