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Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
-
A person only had one heart. It beat, it pumped, and then it died. And then it died.
And it broke, the strings snapped, and you watched the tape secured by staplers wishing you had ever chosen the glue.
It wouldn’t have stayed. Never would close. Never would heal. Cement in cracks of blood was all it could be.
A person only had that one heart, even if had been broken again and again only to be hurt for again. Hah, the irony.
The absolute irony. He had never been good at knowing what was best for himself.
He had loved Regulus Black, fully and thoroughly. He had loved Regulus Black, yelled the words to the world, the skies, the land, and the seas.
And yet when he whispered the words. Not even the full three, no he wasn’t ready for the full three. When he whispered the two words that single handily ruined everything.
He never should have called, never should have said the words. No, he never should’ve even thought the words.
I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you Regulus Arcturus Black!
He had only gotten the two, only two: I love- when a hand slapped over his face. A hand slapped his mouth shut.
And eyes glared into him, poisoning him, and burning the silver off his skin from just hours before.
He wanted to go back to hours before. Hands, lights, music, touches, kisses, and whispers and prayers under lights that barely even showed.
He needed that again. He needed the memories again.
“James,” oh he remembered the way it grated into his brain. The word was scraping, and so so cruel,”James, please don’t do this to me.”
If James had even a sixth reason, it built upon thirteen. Tipping him over. The final straw, the final nail, the final the final it was the final!
He couldn’t do it.
He laughed! He laughed and laughed till his eyes burnt and the disgust from Regulus cut layers into his skin.
His skin stripped down, and down and down. It was Regulus’. He was Regulus’ and Regulus would never want him!
Or maybe he would. How badly that would hurt. He barely let himself dream, even imagine. Could you imagine?
If it existed, a world where he could wake in his arms? And eat bagels even in the same room?
Imagine a world where they stayed for the night!
No, Regulus was just a stranger. A stranger who knew all his secrets, who could pull him apart and break his heart.
Regulus was a name and a number. Regulus was a soulmate who was never meant to be.
And if James could go back- if he could go back to the day they met he never would’ve gone. He would have left Regulus alone, the dirty truth of it.
His biggest regret, and his love. He loved Regulus. And Regulus wouldn’t even let him say the three words.
Regulus was just a stranger now. Dull eyes, nothing like the clear he fell in love with. Frail curls, nothing like the mess he loved to play with.
And the ink on his arm. Ink on his arm! Ink on his arm!
That was the biggest mistake.
No person he loved would have that, he didn’t believe it. A stranger would. A stranger could.
But he hadn’t loved a stranger.
And now he was stuck. The cement in his blood, glueing him to the ground. Stuck, stuck, stuck!
Stuck by a stranger.
What he had given for a stranger! His soulmate, in one past life! His lover, in another.
But now Regulus was everything and nothing. Regulus was a memory, and James was replaying it over and over knowing how much it hurt each time.
But he couldn’t stop. He would never understand. He was under Regulus’ control, wrapped in and twisted around each finger.
One for each time he tried. For every chance he’d given Regulus. And the veins to hold his love, the brain to say it out loud. And eyes to see.
Eyes that saw a stranger in his lover, when he could forget the memory. When regulus faded away.
And James never saw it coming. Maybe he would’ve.
Maybe he should have focused more on the way Regulus started distancing himself, maybe he should’ve focused on the shorter kisses, or the tighter hugs.
Maybe he would’ve known.
Maybe he always did.
And maybe he convinced himself that it was worth it. Regulus couldn’t do it so easily. It couldn’t be easy.
And it was. It was easy as a goodbye, it was easy to finally leave. And it was easy when he got home, brushed his teeth; and cried until his face turned blue.
He was a painting, pretty, blue, and something he knew was art.
He was a painting, and Regulus never bothered to see the museum, walked in different sections.
James was a painting, could sit still and look pretty. As Regulus painted blue, and reds, and the rainbow on James. And James would be art, he would be worth it.
Until he was torn to shreds, and the paint dried and cracked off. Until his wood frame splintered and burnt. And the art crumbled.
Until he was just.
-
A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.