I am so tired. Tired of hearing. Tired of seeing. Tired of even being. I
haven't always been this way. You haven't either, although it was so long
ago it seems like a dream. I remember your knowing smile. And I smiled back
– always smiling. Hours and hours of laughing behind a camera, laughing at
them, laughing at life. Now I only cry.
You laughed with me, once, and you cry with me now. Were you this way with her? I always wondered. The two of you seemed made for each other, and yet she was so simple at heart. You, with your infinite knowledge and years, were far too old for such a childish love, and yet you were too young.
When she smiled at the flowers, or the clouds, or the birds, did you smile at them too? Was her youth infectious? Or did you smile at her, at her silly joys? Perhaps a hundred hundred years ago you would have smiled. You would have laughed, with your love of then. But now, it is just your lips moving on their own, stretching to please her.
You loved her, I know. You loved her enough to wait for her, to wait until you could grow up, and yet what you needed to do was grow down. You had years of bliss, euphoria. But the glow fades and reality remains, and something was not right.
Opposites attract, they say, but you were more than opposites. When she saw a budding flower, you saw only the wilted plant it would become. A frolicking puppy to her was another pile of ash to you. Every day seems but a moment to one with so many days, and life is very fleeting. No, something was not right about a union of one who saw everything and one who saw nothing.
You managed with your first love. She was pretty, and bubbly, and lived just the same... They were so similar, and yet so different. For she was a magician like you. She went through what you did, she understood you. But she never became old.
You were old even before your body was, I think, and now you are ancient. Sometimes I am awed by you, by what you are and what had made you. But inside you are still human. A thousand years later, you can still feel pain. You are not immune. And you do hurt. You hurt more than you realize, I think.
I remember. I don't have a video, but videos aren't needed to remember moments like that. The grief was enough to level buildings, destroy whole cities. But you held it in. Three lonely flowers wilted, three daisies of a whole garden, but the rest you held in. Three desperate tears shed when no one was looking.
They wet my shoulder and for a moment I saw the lost loves in your eyes – your wives and families and friends of two whole lifetimes. So much loss, so much heartbreak, all in a single frail man. I feared for you, then, but I didn't understand you. I didn't think I ever could. How could anyone understand such a man apart?
I understand now, or I think I do. I am so tired, so very tired, as you are. Tired of hearing. Tired of seeing. Tired of being. I have lost my love, my only love, as you have lost both of yours. I see the pain in your eyes and know my eyes are the same, and for a while it is enough to let our eyes shed their tears, together in the warmth of your now-empty house. We are so alike, you and I. Broken hearts, hidden tears, forsaken mansions. Perhaps some day we can heal each other, at least for a little while, but until then this cottage is all we need and each day is enough to live through.
You laughed with me, once, and you cry with me now. Were you this way with her? I always wondered. The two of you seemed made for each other, and yet she was so simple at heart. You, with your infinite knowledge and years, were far too old for such a childish love, and yet you were too young.
When she smiled at the flowers, or the clouds, or the birds, did you smile at them too? Was her youth infectious? Or did you smile at her, at her silly joys? Perhaps a hundred hundred years ago you would have smiled. You would have laughed, with your love of then. But now, it is just your lips moving on their own, stretching to please her.
You loved her, I know. You loved her enough to wait for her, to wait until you could grow up, and yet what you needed to do was grow down. You had years of bliss, euphoria. But the glow fades and reality remains, and something was not right.
Opposites attract, they say, but you were more than opposites. When she saw a budding flower, you saw only the wilted plant it would become. A frolicking puppy to her was another pile of ash to you. Every day seems but a moment to one with so many days, and life is very fleeting. No, something was not right about a union of one who saw everything and one who saw nothing.
You managed with your first love. She was pretty, and bubbly, and lived just the same... They were so similar, and yet so different. For she was a magician like you. She went through what you did, she understood you. But she never became old.
You were old even before your body was, I think, and now you are ancient. Sometimes I am awed by you, by what you are and what had made you. But inside you are still human. A thousand years later, you can still feel pain. You are not immune. And you do hurt. You hurt more than you realize, I think.
I remember. I don't have a video, but videos aren't needed to remember moments like that. The grief was enough to level buildings, destroy whole cities. But you held it in. Three lonely flowers wilted, three daisies of a whole garden, but the rest you held in. Three desperate tears shed when no one was looking.
They wet my shoulder and for a moment I saw the lost loves in your eyes – your wives and families and friends of two whole lifetimes. So much loss, so much heartbreak, all in a single frail man. I feared for you, then, but I didn't understand you. I didn't think I ever could. How could anyone understand such a man apart?
I understand now, or I think I do. I am so tired, so very tired, as you are. Tired of hearing. Tired of seeing. Tired of being. I have lost my love, my only love, as you have lost both of yours. I see the pain in your eyes and know my eyes are the same, and for a while it is enough to let our eyes shed their tears, together in the warmth of your now-empty house. We are so alike, you and I. Broken hearts, hidden tears, forsaken mansions. Perhaps some day we can heal each other, at least for a little while, but until then this cottage is all we need and each day is enough to live through.
