Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Or the lyrics for that matter.
Revolutionary
By Bohemian Storm
But time
melts into nothing
And nothing's changed
He knows when it is time for a story to end. He is a writer, after all, and all
writers know when their story is done. He thought himself quite the poet, but
now, years later, he imagines that all he ever thought
was a lie. Now, with the starless sky hanging over him, he knows that all he
believed in has vanished from the earth.
'Bohemian ideals were a beautiful dream,' he whispers to the sky, but there is
no one to answer his words.
Because she is gone, his life has shattered. Because she died, his life ended.
He imagined that years would ease the pain, but time has done nothing but
create an ugly scar over the wound. He forgot how to write in the time after
their story. The scar made it hard to stretch his imagination and open his
heart. He used to believe that a writer had to be open to anything. He used to
believe that an unmarred soul would mean only the freshest and most beautiful
ideas would pour from his pen.
He can't write anymore, not since she died.
'Make a wish,' he breathes, wondering if she can still hear him.
He wanted nothing more than to be a writer and now all he has to his name is
the love of a whore and a book that tells the world why. He doesn't know if
they will care. He doesn't care if they do, he simply
knows that they need to know the story. There is beauty in their love. He
remembers that it was beautiful.
He wonders if the future will be as lovely as they all say. The bohemian
revolution swept France
without him and he choked on its dust. He decides that there is no future. Not
for a writer who can no longer write and a child of the bohemian revolution who
has become far too jaded to believe in the ideals any longer.
Loving her tore it all from him.
He doesn't regret loving her. He can't regret loving her. It was the closest he
ever came to being a true revolutionary; the closest he ever came to fully
believing in truth, beauty, freedom and love. She made him believe. Her love
made him see what the world could be, but now he knew that the world could
never be so perfect for very long. Sooner or later it would all come crashing
down and there would be nothing left but the wasteland in which his heart
lives.
He wonders when the rest of the world will join him.
As he drifts off, he can hear his father's voice ringing with 'I told you so'
in his ear. He will go mad, he knows he will. There is no future for a writer
who cannot write and a man who can no longer hear anything but the voice of his
past.
End