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Standing before me are my faults, the pains I’ve swallowed, and the fury that I have let fester for far too long. I am terrified yet I do not tremble, this hell is all I’ve ever known and it is in its beauty where I shall suffer no more.
I’ve taken you away. That is the bitter truth to our bitter reality.
I like to delude myself and say that it was for the better. You will no longer have to read from scripts and paint on mask after mask in a clear masquerade. No longer will you have to cry, no longer will you ache. Your chest shall never know the traces of red I left behind, your mind now knows nothing. Some may call this rest, others may call it hell.
But, as I’d like to say I took away your pain, I must say that I took away the greatest joys from you all the same. No longer will you laugh, no longer will you write your joys and sorrows, no longer will you have that wistful look in your eye. You will never be able to smell the flowers in your mother’s garden and you can never tell me if red or purple was your favorite color. I will never know if you prefer gold over blue or if you liked the smell of lavender over pinewood. You will never have the chance to tell me of the little joys you had. That is one of my many regrets.
You are no more now, and I am all that is left to thank. I took away your chance of living, of ever having the devastating realization that you are alive and good and beautiful and tragic. You will know nothing.
It should not bother me. Your death is only one out of a thousand others and only one of the hundreds caused by my very hand. Yet I mourn for you, why? I mourn for you as I’ve never done for anything. You have to understand, not once have I mourned. I’ve not mourned for the first person I’ve killed. Never did I mourn for Azriel or Sennith or Vamelli or Xavier. I remember them, yes, but I have never mourned. The closest thing I’ve felt was the grief that came with losing a childhood I was never meant to have. I’ve only given others a passing glance yet you– strong, tragic, smart, devastating–
you
. I mourn for you.
You who are equal parts naive and cunning. I often ask myself how someone as smart as you can look at me and love me still. I did not deserve you. I cannot wax poetry about the way my heart stutters at the feeling of your hair between my fingers, I cannot write songs about your beauty and I will not allow myself to taint you with my words. Because soon, I will forget you.
There will come a day where your name will no longer singe my tongue. There will come a day where I will no longer think of you and wonder. I will dream of you, converse with you in those ashen fields, and I will rise from slumber with the striking, but not unpleasant, absence of your screaming through my own voice. I will be at peace one day; even if I do not deserve it.
My sweet, lilac-colored girl. My Victorique. There will come a day where I love you, but you will no longer consume me. Selfishness runs in our blood and I am no different.