Work Text:
"I'm ereasing myself from the narrative.
Let future historians wonder
How Eliza reacted
When you broke her heart,
You have torn it all apart."
Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton.
That was the name of the woman who sacrificed the most precious gift of God, time, for the love of her life, Alexander Hamilton.
She would play the piano, while he would arrange sad and elaborate melodies with the soft laments of her heartstrings; which were intertwined to a violin he himself built out of her hope.
How did she feel, when the whole world downed upon her? How does even a mother and wife feel, after losing her son to Death, and her husband to Lust?
"Mother" and "wife" are not sufficient to describe what Eliza Schuyler truly was.
Those are accurate descriptions, but most off all she was one thing: hopeful.
She read his letters. She searched and scanned for answers in every line. The man whom she loved the most was the one who tore her heart out of her chest.
He first betrayed her emotionally, by desiring the affection of her own sister, then carnally, by laying with a merried woman.
Yet, she forgave him.
How does one forgive such a thing, one may wonder?
How could she go on to let his memory live in the relentless storm of time, in which a man can either persevere and survive or die forgotten?
There are emotions far too great to be explained logically.
She saw not a cheater, but the man she fell in love with and the father of her children. She saw a light in his eyes that could erease any previous justified anger.
Some eyes carry no shame for their action, no remorse; yet you can't help but get lost in them. You can't help but wish just for a moment to forget you've ever seen them at all.
That being said, you're completely aware that they're burned in your memory. And there's no cure to that.