Author's note: Thanks for reading. (back story)Kelsey/Trooper wrote the line still trying to love/hate harder. I think it should be a song lyric. Listened to the classic Clair de Lune and Love is a Chemical by Robert Francis while writing this by chance anyone wants to get a feel for this one shot, then I listened to Mess is Mine on repeat and this took weeks to write but was in the back of my head for days. All typos are my own since this was unedited.
"If you want to see infinity just close your eyes!"-The Unbearable Lightness of Being
"When you think of love do you think of pain? You can tell me what you see-I will choose what I believe!"-Mess is Mine by Vance Joy
It was small and well worn, the edges a dark brown and a long, thin leather rope was wrapped around it twice to secure it closed. It looked like it had to be held delicately as it contained a thin bulk of papers. Laura had stared at it on and off for days in fleeting seconds. Occasionally in cerebral silences she stared with longing, blank, transfixed looks believing it held Carmilla's secrets. The Light had devoured her. That sentence played again and again in her head. Light. Lightness took her. She was raised to believe darkness was something to be feared. The opposite being true completely threw her and left her in shock. Light wasn't always pure. It was an ideal. She had learned something without teeth could still devour a person. And she was learning, perhaps too late in what she considered her young, rather naïve life that she needed to be more realistic and not take anything at face value. The journal in her mind was a chance to understand Carmilla who seemed the type to write her emotions and thoughts versus proclaim them openly. Someone who had gone away and at the same time was taken from her that created a frustrated ambivalence that left a longing. She stared at the journal with deep frowns forming until she touched the soft leather and decided it could be photographs instead of truths and candid self-expression that she had built up. Better to solve the question and take a look, though part of her thought it was an invasion of privacy until she tried to rationalize the dead don't really have rights. Her fingertips traced the darkened edges, she sighed and sat back on her bed and slowly pulled the leather rope. For a second she felt like she was imposing and in the back of her mind wondered if this was how Pandora felt. Another sigh escaped and she was vaguely aware her heart couldn't decide if it should slow down or speed up. Action distracted her from analyzing as she turned the cover and glanced at the first page to see artistic, beautiful handwriting. She skimmed the page without really taking in the words until she trailed her index finger over the page and held the journal as though she were in church holding the prayer book because she was still worshiping the memory of Carmilla. That was all she had now and she had resigned emotionally to holding onto the memory of Carmilla instead of lying to herself. the first page was dated over two hundred years ago.
There are a million things I am and a million things I'm not. I've "lived" or more so existed long enough to know this. I am not a philosopher, nor a poet. I am in the margins and an extremist partially of my own volition. People are distracted and too focused on categorizing instead of experiencing. If they lived longer perhaps they'd savor more. Fall in love with music, art, knowledge, the unknown…but I've found they're strange creatures. As I once was. In a way its how adults consider babies. Wide eyed, taking it all in because it's the first time for them, a many of firsts, while with age they become desensitized and turn away from what may be a repeat experience. Creatures filled with great potential and limitations. Its difficult to fall in love, how uncertainty, how untrustworthy, though they fight for it and battle internally for validation and to hold onto it. Rarely is it with ease. But what is it?
The passage ended and Laura felt Carmilla's longing to understand something that may have seemed like a foreign language. She tilted to her head to the left and right, feeling the crack as though her body was preparing for battle. For a second she wondered where Carmilla was in the world when she had written these passages. With a breath and a shoulder roll she kept reading. The next part was dated a few days after.
I've found it should be simple but is heavily complex and layered with subjectivity. I could and have asked what love is to people and its always different in a way that is rare-as always is. One can view love as situational and black and white, while another can say its grey and perhaps a philosopher would say subjectivity is subjective because you/she/he/they see it in black and white while it's various shades of grey. Love is the absence of logic, it's intoxicating, it's transcendental and words have often fallen short to describe it because it would be difficult to pinpoint something ethereal wouldn't it? A nearly impossible task. A link can be made that it's intoxicating because it's a chemical. Isn't it why people try so desperately to hold onto it? It's drug qualities are addictive and people try with all their might, until their last breath to be understood, cared for, considered, vindicated, held, mutually experienced, adored, to be the muse, to feel alive, to be real, to feel inspired to be raw, and to be infinite in the way endless is truly had some things right and some undeniably wrong. Its not to be or not to be, its to love or not to. And yet Shakespeare had it right in beautiful fashion when Mercutio says-if love be rough with you, be rough with love. Perhaps its more adequate to ask to love or hate harder. I try to love/hate harder every day and I'm losing the energy to maintain hatred, but loving can be gentle and with an ease that I've never been prepared for. And maybe that's the beauty of its layers-how I couldn't and wouldn't have been able to warn myself. No one can deny there's power in it, just as its antithesis of hatred holds power. Strangely-love has never been an easy word. Shouldn't it be everything?
Laura paused again where the writing ended. She wondered if Carmilla for a while was always reaching or aching to be proved her cynicism was wrong or a simple defense, though Carmilla was never younger girl found it endearing and existenialist. A connection was still holding them together she realized since she had been as curious, if not more so than Carmilla on her own, though admittedly less eloquent. She kept reading, feeling she couldn't stop if someone scolded her. The next bit was dated weeks later.
I wish it wasn't so damn complex. On some level I think everyone knows love is everything but may not fully accept it, like telling a half lie and a half truth. And it's a cyclical process. Love is natural and learned. If anyone denies it's shaped by environment and experiences they've never felt it or they've purposefully rejected opportunity. Passion and logic aren't in the same vein. And some choose to avoid love, as though it were a plague when the idea of love is linked to pain. Or do the enlightened or the emotionally limited believe love is like trying to hold onto water that's evaporating into air?
The small passage ended there and Laura smirked that Carmilla wrote ambigiously and vaguely. How matter of fact some of her sentences were as though she were an anthropologist or sociologist trying to describe humans. She read on, turned another page and smiled that the passage was a few days later.
Nonsensical is a wonderful word.
The sullen girl smiled at those five words. How very Carmilla to make such a simple note about a word she found charming and how charming, in turn Carmilla could unintentionally be. She bit her lip because she should have known coming across a journal that expressed thoughts and personality would lead her to loving Carmilla more. Where Carmilla was tentative and slow to trust, Laura knew she loved as much as she could, without limits because love was the most important thing, she knew it made a person rich or lost. Her father had once told her he was glad to have loved her mother, the pain was worth it. And in her young life Laura knew she had processed and been forced to handle loss in ways others hadn't but it didn't make her withdraw from the world, she loved and welcomed messes that came with it because some of the most vivid and early memories of her mother involved unconditional love. She took a break from the reading and considered how lucky she was to have had the relationship she did with her parents. It was difficult to fault her father for being over protective when he had watched his wife fade from him and leave the world. Deep breaths followed due to memories replaying in her head and she hadn't realized she hadn't allowed daydreams and flashbacks to her mother in a while. Another smile formed on her lips and she sent a silent thank you to her mother for teaching her how to love and be open. Again she looked down and saw the next part was a week later.
"And in this state she gallops night by night
Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love." -Romeo & Juliet Act I, Scene IV
Laura was amused Carmilla chose the lines, having listened through one of rants that Shakespeare was overrated and received a glare when she had called the vampire a hipster but changed it to grungy...brooding hipster which still earned her a glare but a small smirk. The blonde wondered if Carmilla appreciated the quote because of the presence of night, a time when Carmilla would appear more alive. Like Carmilla's questions, her own would go unanswered.
The next part was around thirty years later.
Wouldn't it be nice if before anyone starts a relationship on the first date or whatever holds for courtship in these times they ask-what is love to you? Here's my personal brand of fucked up…what's yours? But that's too honest and this world is ambivalent on honesty and at best shuns those who are considered blunt. Certainly it would cut to the point, but people at their core are uncertain. Tomorrow is unknown and that intertwines with fear while there's also beauty. And sometimes it's balanced while it instills fear for someone to be with you tomorrow because that intertwines trust to not be abandoned. Though that's a dramatic word I believe love inevitably has its drama. Isn't love intertwined with vulnerability? What are the pros and cons that outweigh the risk? And would anyone bother trying if they knew the outcome? Would it be too hopeful to believe love is beauty and the spark to our souls?
Laura breathed deeply, through her nose as though she were meditating. The questions made sense and were open ended she believed because there would never be a concrete answer to them. She tilted her head down and then lifted it again to look at the clock. Two hours had passed. Slowly she got up and stretched. Words held weight, not all, but they had the capability to be carried around with you and Laura felt she would be holding these words in her for some time. After she lifted her hands over her head, the small book still in her hand as though she didn't want to give it up she re-situated on her bed. The next passage was almost a decade later.
I've found the little that I understand of love involves embracing ambivalence. I can ask all of these questions until all the stars fade away to a most desolate sky. Love requires courage. It will have its sacrifices. People wage wars in its honor and don't see their painful, brutal hypocrisy. On a smaller scale it can be personal or between two people but it can still create destruction. And back to balance-it can create serenity, acceptance, epiphanies, art, protests, uprisings, glory, euphoria, inspiration, Elysium, and potential. The chance to be better is intertwined with untapped energy that can linger in people, waiting to be lit. Sometimes the fuse can ignite evil, but I believe it's a person's choice-not who they love but to love. And it presents in every action and word. Both can hold subtext and insincerity and shouldn't be more powerful or stronger than the other. Action is simply more blatant and concrete. Words have multiple meanings and its all linked as it comes back to subjectivity. And I know I seem insane. Trying to understand feelings is daunting and our brains are not built for it. We go to emotions before logic. We were created flawed and it can be argued if we're created in "his image" than "he" is of course flawed which is organic-in our cells and souls. What if we re-framed and tried to view our imperfections and natural short comings as beautiful? Why do we compare beautiful things to what we deem ugly? Must we juxtapose or can beauty simply be beautiful and ugly the lack of it as cold is the lack of warmth without completely denouncing its aesthetic and intrinsic value? Can we not simply enjoy something because it exists? I've kept living for the beauty of things-music, words, experiences, curiosity budding hope to witness and be part of the "accidental beauty" of this uncertain world. (I blame Paris for thinking all of this.) Because to abandon all hope would be foolish and self-damaging. Are you happy is one of the most important questions to ask. I've asked myself who am I in various forms and in different phrases through my wandering existence. I've sat and still wandered, I've stood atop mountains and not had to breathe in the thin air wondering how to find a place in the world for me and what it meant to embrace the past, present and future without rejecting or defiling who I was, who I am and who I will be. The question of how to not restrict myself and not allow others to restrict me. The answer floats and drifts back to love as though the journey will be on a boat with the roaring or calm sea. Love with all its madness. As we close our eyes and imagine the darkness won't consume us and quicken our heartbeats or what we nostalgically recall of a heartbeat. Falling through darkness can be overwhelming and thrilling. In an abstract way that's love because at its core love is pure, though universal. A trait that is rare in this world. Love is purely abstract. That's what I've learned.
Laura frowned at the words. Carmilla was hopeful…or Paris was to blame as she noted in the only parenthesis side note. Slowly her frown softened and turned into another genuine smile. An act she hadn't experienced in some time and it felt her face had to really relearn the sensation. She moved her thumb over the cover in circles once she closed the small book that could hold a passport. For a second she pretended Carmilla was traveling, but the next second brought her to the thinking Carmilla could have showed her more layers to love, could have made her felt more. Quickly Laura stopped any bitter thoughts. At the very least she could be thankful she had experienced with her. Was she happy? Another sigh went through her body and she held the notebook with great care. Yes, she was happy. She had felt and gone through more than she imagined she would. She had loved.
End note: Seems an abrupt ending and I'm ok with that. This was what happens after season 1 in my mind. On an amusing note-Dr. Seuss said: We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.