I haven't been able to face anybody since her death. The bohemians, Tolouse in particular, have attempted to break through my shell, but I am afraid I will never be free from the prison of my sorrow. I cannot imagine enjoying a life where Satine does not exist, so I have attempted to live in the past, in our happy memories and what few mementos I have of our time together.
I do not see any reason to go on. My physical body persists, but my joie de vivre, my passion, my very soul died with her that night.
Holding her in my arms, watching the life drain from her... I can not help but replay it night after night. I do not blame the Duke for her death, for he did not give her the consumption, but at the beginning I cursed him all the same. For the precious time that was lost and the needlessly hurtful words that were said. For the hurt and pain he caused to be borne.
I do not have the strength to be angry, anymore. Or for much of anything else.
I remember her last words, urging me to go on, urging me to tell our story. I do not know when I'll gather enough strength to be able to do so, but I know that when I do it will the last thing I will do in this life. I can feel my life force ebbing as I sit in this tiny apartment; unable to avert my gaze from the place where I met her, fell in love with her, and watched her die. Business is booming, as if nothing had happened there, as if my time together with Satine was naught but a fantasy or an errant dream. Sometimes I wonder if it were all in my head, but the feeling of my heart's blood drowning me with every beat tells me otherwise. Pain like this could never come from an illusion.
I cannot make up my mind on whether I wish it had all been a hallucination or not. If it had been aught but a fevered reverie maybe I could fall back asleep, rewrite the end of our story. Even a delusional life with Satine would be better than any sort of life without her. But I knew there was only one sleep that could reunite us and I welcome it with open arms.
Come, sweet death.