Owl to Severus; Owl to Deirdre

[diva_myron]

Date: Monday, 27 November 2000
Time: Very early in the morning-- in fact, 0437
Location: St Georges Rd, St Margarets, Middlesex
Rating: G

Comments

Owl to Myron Wagtail

[subtle_simmer]

Myron,

I am astonished to hear you have been less than... hmmm, funky? Is that a word? Though I have not heard from you in quite some time, I did think it was because you were enjoying yourself with your friends, your music, and your adoring fans

Owl to Severus - in the afternoon

[diva_myron]

Dearest Severus,

You are cheerful! I bet it looks stylish on you. How I wish I could face your countenance sooner than later. We absolutely MUST meet for drinks. When are you going to be free? On that note, soon I'm going to be completely free. I'm almost near the completion of my next "masterpiece", if you will-- Kir and I are giving it the finishing touches and then some more. But in early 2001 it should be out. I hope you will like it. I think you will like it, because the nature of the album is a bit different than what I've been doing so far.

Severus-- do tell, are you in love? (and on that note - I'm not intruding upon anything, am I?) As far as I now, Love is the only feeling in this world that can lend such effects. Not just effects, it changes the very nature of life, the very lenses we use when looking at the world. I think your Weltanschauung has changed, somewhat. Not too drastically, thank Merlin, because otherwise you'd turn into another Myron, and now that would be boring, because I'd know all about you, and there

Owl to Myron

[subtle_simmer]

Myron,

I look forward to the new album, congratulations.

Have you forgotten to whom you write? Me? In love? Impossible

Owl to Myron

[deirdre_ivy]

Oh Mab, my quill wants to sink into the ink and reply in force.

But.

I scarcely know what to say.

I think I've crumbled in at the edges since we last met. Details don't jump out in sharp relief as they did when there was everything to be had. It was so long ago, and I begin to forget the sound of you.

A lie. I could never-

Apparitions of faces in a crowd, as he said.

Did I- Did I make you disappear? I know you say you cannot explain, but you must see! I've been waiting without knowing I was frozen, without knowing what was taken, or if It was ever there to begin with. I suppose I could have striven to contact you, but there seemed a finite cold vacuum where you once enveloped my hand in yours.

You were right. Frozen is the word.

But Autumn is the sweetest. Will you be gone again come next September? Do you remember, or was it all a flicker in my dreaming cortex?

Don't fret about me.

Unless

D

P.S. [Paperclipped to the parchment is a tiny envelope, with something inside.]Here's a picture I tried to take of myself

Owl to Deirdre - later on in the day

[diva_myron]

How cruel are your words. But I do deserve them, don't I?

You didn't make me disappear. You were the reason I had to rise back to the surface. There, back there it is: lightless, soundless. So strange. My Mom used to love autumns.

I don't know what will happen next September. Maybe I'll be dead, but that's pathetic...

I cannot ask for your forgiveness, I do not deserve it. If you want, I'll disappear from the face of the earth for you. I will become a shadow that won't even haunt. Am I getting pathetic? Poets are pathetic, I heard. Even Ezra. (What to speak of Plath then? And the wolves howling?)

The winter's coming. How to stop our hearts from freezing down completely? Maybe sing, but my voice is hoarse since lately. Kir's been absent, as always. He's partying, I think. You do know Kir, do you? But what does it matter.

The remembrances sting my heart like needles. Can men cry? I cry. Would you still love-- is that disdain I can feel coming from you in my paranoiac forlornry? I'm not going to crumple down

Owl to Myron - late that night

[deirdre_ivy]

Oh, Myron, I---

You are so kind, so kind that I am become terrified...I do believe, if it's not too much for me to say, that you deserve everything (everything) good I can give you. I do believe that you still haunt me, and that you'd haunt me onward and forever. I do believe that I want you to haunt me. I do believe that I want you. If you disappeared, I-

What I mean to say is--and how strange, how lightheaded and silly it sounds--is that I wanted you to ask, so that I could give. I daresay I've taken enough.

So ask me anything. Ask me to spin you an oak with red leaves, ask me to spin you warm skin and silk sheets and hot bubble baths while the wind rattles the frosted panes. Ask me to kiss soothe your throat and catch your tears.

but oh please don't let me hurt you hurt me again

Pathetic for your truth? Pathetic for your tears? Oh never, oh, but the disdain poisoning each verbatim is for myself, for making you feel this way. Don't you see? I am an artless coward.

and I'm slightly broken.

so if you could...be

Owl to Deirdre - Midnight

[diva_myron]

Disappearances, the spectral ones, all colours of the rainbow, and something-- something light and careless. With nothing burdening the shoulders (does it even have them?), and starry nights. And winter coming, the breath of it, I feel.

No- no, I shall not disappear. I am so: can you hear my heart beating? I will record it and send it with the letter, for you. In a silver music box, from me to you. You'll listen to it at nights, and once it stops - you'll know I'm dead. (Oh such horrible things I speak!)

But I will not die- not anymore. I have You to keep me alive I have your beauty to keep me alive, wondering how such Purity of the Aesthetic can exist in a world full of suffering and deaths. Maybe we were meant to save it from the madness. You and I, with starry eyes.

My heartbeats are yours. My dear Friend, my Muse, my Love-- it pierces through my heart, is it what I've been looking for forever? I cannot say, i cannot say. I do not deserve it. Confessions are for the bravehearted, and I, I'm lost in the haze of this webbed