kriszeth

So, I tend to come back to this story quite a lot. Once I began reading it, I can't stop myself.
So, I'm re-posting this again in my quest at journal edition
Last time though I didn't say anything about this piece. The en of "The meaning of a smile" with double angst to top it.
To Black Star, may you all find the happiness you gave me with your presence.

Epilogue...

... or Eulogy. Whichever you prefer.

His name, in your opinion, was –is- the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. And yeah, you’re that biased when it comes to everything that was –is- him.

"He was…

Is, will be…

(Forever and ever and we’ll throw in an eternity, just, you know, to be safe)

… until death gather us together. Because it is not the end, it can’t be the end. This is endless.

… the love of my life"

You tell someone, someday, somewhere. It doesn’t matter.

It’s only predictable you worship the name you gave him and sometimes you can still feel the giddiness it caused you to hear his sister call him that the first time; because he deemed it worthy of him.

What with him being something akin to a prince and all that shit.

Because there wasn’t –isn’t, never will be- a lot of things worthy of him, including you, but he loved you anyway.

LOVES you damnit! Present tense!

And you still wonder how that ever happened.

Because he hated -despised, loathed- you.

(You were robbing him of the most precious things he ever had and he detested you)

That was why he went away that first time, even though you still feel he was being a coward. Then again, you were just a brat at that time and he was so possessive with his little sister, the same way it was with you latter.

You still remember the expression on his face when you told him. The cutely doubtful pout that said ‘What? Are you crazy? That’s a stupid name’, his lovely frown when you explained the meaning you gave to the name…

(Like your eyes…)

… the way he blushed at your dreamy sigh and silly smile. And the rejection when he just called you brat, because even then, you liked him and you just wanted to be something more than a thief.

When you close your eyes, you almost can hear the piano notes he played, clumsy as they were –not that you knew then- because he didn’t know how to say ‘I like you’ back and was much too proud to utter ‘I’m sorry’ and just plain didn’t want to offer a ‘Good bye’, but wasn’t brave enough to assure ‘See you again’ and the way you cried because you didn’t understand anything back then.

(Why is he leaving? Where is he going?... Why did he hate me?

That’s why you whisper to the wind even when you’re not thinking of him and write the name down when you don’t intend to.

Though lately you can’t bring yourself to do it even when you DO intend it.

He is like a dream you don’t want to wake from. But to life it’s not a matter of what you want and there’s always an alarm clock that tears you apart from dream land.

Some mornings your eyes are wet with unshed tears.

As you open your eyes is like seeing a mirror break as it falls to the floor and you can hear the beautiful cacophony the crystal makes, though is your world that is coming down and the only one who ends up falling apart is you.

There’s nothing beautiful in that.

Maybe, just maybe, you got cut along the way as the pieces of glass fell upon you and as everything that resembled all you ever believed in came apart.

It feels like dying a little more each day.

You wonder where the blood and the scars have gone, because your body is unblemished and sometimes you just want to take the wounds to the physical world, if only to have some reminder in your skin of the pain you just can’t feel.

Because memories are all that is left and they’re fading with you.

And sometimes you just want to kneel over and die, die, die but you know you won't anytime soon and maybe –might be, could be- THAT is a reason why –is it enough?- is worth trying to live.

But then, you're no longer dying, because you're already dead. Deader than dead even and there's regret, but there's ALWAYS regret and…

You just don't know what to do with it.

"He was my master…"

And you were his doll, the one who pledged to be whomever and whatever he wanted if he really wanted it because that's all you've ever truly wished for and he knew you the best.

You can only want, crave, wish and long for.

He never asked for something you didn't yearn for anyway, even if sometimes he seemed indifferent and vindictive when he did ask.

And just how he could make coldness and strict sound warm and caring, the way he rolled deadpan and silence into something comfortable, how jealousy and possessiveness were a sign of love and you were his and only his, even if sometimes he feared it wasn't like that.

(It could have been him, the bastard. If he hadn't gone away then, it could have been him the one you chose instead of me)

You still shiver to remember the death glare he sent you the first time you called him that and the way everybody saw you when you told them you belonged to him. It was so funny you kept doing it until the joke grew on you, though it was his little sister the one who dressed you up.

(What are you whining for? It's not as if I, or everybody else in this damn school, haven't seen the way you look at her as if you wanted to eat her and Oh. My. God. Are you blushing? Where's my camera? I'm so going to enlarge this one and frame it in freaking gold and put it in the gallery so all can see!)

The worst is when is raining, you think, because then you remember the purposeless parties, the live music, the long, long nights and the darkness of the garden you were guided into and how you never felt afraid because he was beside you, taking your hand as you lifted up your head and closed your eyes whilst walking -or dancing or skipping- just to feel the raindrops on your face, the sheer discomfort of your clothes clinging to your skin -his gentlemanly manners as he draped his sweater or coat over your shoulders- as you sang to the heavens and sometimes he sang along with you or, if you asked, serenaded you or how he laughed at the scene –the childish joy, quoting him– you made.

(Drip, drip, dripping through the leaves)

How you never ever got cold when you were together even if the next day you got a cold.

So, you feel elated when you can finally see them again after a long, long time…

And when was the last time you really saw him –them-, a bazillion years ago? Sure feels like it.

*****

(You are too dependent and that was not my, nor anybody's, intention. You're young and pliable and you should live before you pledge yourself to the commitments we have talked about)

You were seventeen and talked like an ancient with wisdom that was never yours to begin with.

(Are you calling me a brat again? Commitments you say, when you were the one who asked me to marry you. When we were twelve! What's changed? Am I not pretty enough to your standards anymore?)

Childish pettiness.

(I'm not saying that!)

The roar of a lion. Indignant with righteous fury.

(But you're implying it!)

The scream of a banshee. Hurt and soul shattering and most of all sad and regretful.

(You were the first one to break our relationship! You! Not me!)

All the mistakes bare for all to see.

(…)

(You must learn to live for yourself. Not for me or anybody else. You've been a doll for much too long and I didn't plan this nor did you, but this is the way it turned out and we must take measurements, hoping for the best. So here is hoping for the best: I, hereby, set you free of any attachment the two of us ever made)

His eyes misted with something akin to regret and heartbreak.

(I don't wish to be free! If freedom means I can't be with you, with them, then I'd rather not be let free! I'd do anything and everything to be with all of you! Please, please, please…I-!)

Reduced to beg. What was the meaning of pride?

(Stop it! This isn't easy for me either… It doesn't become you…)

(…)

(No… No, it doesn't, does it?)

All whispery-like. It would be shameful if someone had heard.

(…)

(Maybe the worst part is that this time there won't be a good bye kiss)

And he was gone.

(Was there ever?)

Did we ever need to say good bye?

*****

It's just that there was no use for the broken shell of doll.

… and you want to remember how it felt to be kissed and hugged and dressed up as the doll you made-believe everyone you were.

(Because even if you don't act like it, at the very least do look the part, my dear)

You want to hear your name being called out…

(Key. Kailei. Kriszeth. Kris. Kajjak. Jestic. Angel. Princess. Kitten. My dear. My little girl. My love. Mine)

… and it doesn't really matter the name you're being called if it's them trying to get your attention and hold it and you can hear their voices already.

You've always heard them. Rough and sweet, velvet and childish, understanding and flirty, funny and devoted, cold and reprimanding and healing and vivid and just THERE.

Sometimes the voices blend together and you don't really know who is the one talking. It becomes kind of difficult to draw the line that dictates where one begins and the others end. They're trapped in an intricate web of illusions and myriads that you long for to be the only reality you can live in. With them. For them.

(Because I am as much theirs as they're mine and I won't let you, or anybody else for that matter, touch them. They're mine!)

You wonder who is in fact the one being ensnared by whom.

The smile on your face is almost maniac and you feel like you're walking on clouds or sweet cotton and you desperately NEED them now and here and to stay.

(Please, please, please stay, stay, staystaystaystaystaystay. Or take me with you, because I can't –won't, refuse to- stay here without you)

That's when all –everything, everybody- went to hell.

(I suppose the Promised Land wasn't for us, uh?)

It's like dying all over again and you wonder how many times you'll have to pass away for the people you care about, since you're certain you have surpassed the quota by a couple of lifetimes…

(No one should be constrained to put up with life)

... specially if you don't know what to do with the life stream running through your veins and you think you should stop your time but don't really have a reason to, though your reason(s) to go on have all but ceased to exist.

"He is dead"

You're ashamed because in your head it keeps going on and on and…

He's dead. He's dead. He's dead. He. Is. Dead. Dead deaddeaddeaddeaddead.

(And the point of it is you're not)

… on and on and on, when it wasn't only him, but the whole lot of them.

Dymi with his brotherly affection and dear Sirent, with her silent comfort and lovely smile.

(Onii-chan! Sirent! Ha-ya-ku! Mou, you're so ssssloooowwww. I'm getting old here all in my lonesome!)

Leonardo –who was a mockery for a free- with his flirty personality and his devotion for his lovable and smart eight year-old son, Len…

(You don't really like kids, do you?)

… and his beautiful understanding wife –who could scare the living daylights out of you with a sweet smile if pissed of-, Jenn, Jenny, Jennipher who always, always listened.

(You're so stupid! Stupidstupidstupid. Are you going to let her go again, you fucking idiot? Where is your supposed intelligence? If she rejected you, then ask until she accepts!)

Terry –whose pet was a crow, for God's sake- with his rich velvety voice and long, long dark silky hair and he was your second boyfriend, who married the first friend you ever made, Esmeralda, who had a photographer fixation and took pictures of everything –mainly you with her brother- and liked to dress you up –so her brother could drool all over you or so she said- as she'd do a doll, with modern and sometimes bold ensembles.

(You should tell her already, before her mother also decides who she should marry. Fight for her, Terry, and let her fight for you. Esme loves you so much and we both knew this wasn't going to last so I want you to be happy with her. Would you?)

And Seiya, your fourth boyfriend, who was the only one that could make you smile with his antics no matter the mood you were in, always enchanting and devoted and…

(If we have met in a world where he didn't exist, would you have waited for me?)

… he fell –and stayed- in love with the best woman you've ever met and loved with all your heart, the one he was always fighting with -and we all saw that coming from a million miles away-, faithful, straightforward and strong-willed Cristal, your Nee-san, full of mischief and devotion for you and…

(I'd do anything for you, because I love you so much and I hate him for taking you away from me. You're my little girl, my sweet love. I don't want to lose you. I won't lose you)

… she loved as much as you do love her.

(Sometimes I envy the two of you so much… I really don't understand why you always shoot him down saying no to his marriage proposal when you're as lovesick for him as he is about you)

(… I wonder when he is going to stop asking. Probably until I say yes… Maybe someday…)

When you read the text message containing the bad news, you did the only reasonable thing you thought of: ran out the room in the middle of the class, tears spilling from your eyes already and only coherent enough through the crying…

You want to scream.

… and the irritation…

Stupid, stupid birthdays. Why must they be an important date? You never even celebrate it. You don't usually remember it.

… and the not-pain…

You want to laugh it off. Is a joke, isn't it?

… that was there, so faintly but as sure as THEY WERE DEAD. And all was gone hell.

Did it ever was out of it?

Paradise was overrated anyway.

(I'm not a good person, Key-Key. I don't even want to be one)

You want to fall on your knees and never get up. Never ever stand again – but one of them comes after you, all worry-like asking for an explanation to your tears and uttering a name you don't want to hear never ever again

"They are dead"

(I hate you, hate you, hate you, you fucking son of a bitch, you fucking Sphinx I'm going to kill you. I'm going to hurt you so sadistically cruel that you won't know anything else but pain and I'll be the one administering someday, somehow, you just wait)

She helps you arise –only physically, never metaphysically- and you haven't hated anyone as much as you do now.

Not since you discovered that you love them as much as you hated yourself.

(You can only love so much as you can hate, princess)

Just like that, the sadness is abated with the absolute hatred, the spitefulness that brings you to the edge, dying and dead and cold and calculating and waiting for an opportunity to strike him down and destroy and tear apart.

If it weren't for him, nothing of this would ever have happened. Why, oh why, did you never listen to all of them?

(Do you want me to kill him?)

And she's there. She's there and stays there with you -without them- and they try to cheer you up.

'Stop staring'

That's what you want to say to them sometimes. But you stand there, staring at them staring at you...

You want them to stop staring. To go away. To leave you alone. To let you talk to the voices in your head, the little personalities of theirs that you've made up and crammed in a corner of your mind.

… and you smile. Because they need it and it doesn't matter.

You are so, so really utterly completely sorry.

You'll feel pity if not for your thinking that that kind of emotion is reserved only for animals and in some ways you reject them the closer they get to you.

(It's easier to love someone far away from you, don't you think so?)

(Hero worship, you mean?)

(… Not exactly)

Suddenly, you just want to go home and shut yourself from the world inside your room –as if you didn't do that already- and cry, but you won't, at least not in your house.

Mother has enough to worry about as it is.

(Can you cry? Don't cry. Never fear the end, just laugh. Even if it won't make you feel better, it'll fill this void of silence. So cry)

But you don't even have a grave in which to cry on and you won't ask for one. So the tears spill over without warning, wetting the shoulder of the one you're hugging, trying to fill the bottomless vase of your sorrow.

(Ne, I'm sad)

(Why?)

(… I don't really know)

"It's over"

(Death is not the end, Master)

It sounded exciting to the ear, but the heart cried in anguish. Letting go was not something you were prepared –or trained- to do.

(Those who forget, those who let go, regret it; for it is the biggest mistake one will ever make)

Moving on sucks, anyway.

When you do go home, there's no trace of the mourning and time passes so fast, you don't notice that night has arrived. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

Your room is always dark anyway, in more than one way.

You don't want to sleep, so you read and draw and write and take long naps in the afternoon. What would the point of it may be, if you have to wake up again and you won't dream of them anyway?

Because even in your dreams, the are dead.

(There are nights when alone, I clutch my knees and want to cry, but I can't, you know? And when the next day comes and I meet them, I'm sure I'll be smiling)

"Are you ok?" some of them still asks.

You're trying so hard not to think of it - him – them – anything really.

"I'm fine"

But you're not. You're not and you won't be anytime soon and you're thinking too much already.

(Did I ever stop?)

And you smile. Smile, smile, smile, because it's easier and they need it and it doesn't matter, because your eyes sting enough already.

You're so tired.

So it's only now you understand there's no meaning to your smiles anymore. He's not here to see them nor is Seiya to make you smile, they're not here to love you and let you love them and why did they have to die?!

But there are people around you, as always, and you hate yourself just a little more every time your lips curve upwards without feeling.

"I just miss them"

*****

(Ne, Master, how long do you think we can be like this?)

(As long as you wish it so)

(… Then forever! Forever and ever and we'll threw in an eternity, because, you know, just to be safe)

(… And what if we die?)

(Well, I'll die first, of course, so you can miss me, but not for long, because a few seconds later you'll also die and we'll go on together, because death is not the end Master. It's never the end. What we have is endless)

(Is that so?)

(Yep!)

*****

"Rest in peace"

You whisper to your new best friend, your confidant and your eternal messenger: the Wind, hoping somehow it reaches them.

You'll just go on living with the pieces...

Yours? Theirs?

(Does it matter?)

... left behind.