"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
is just to love, and be loved in return."
The words echo in my mind, haunting me,
mocking me. Oh, it may have taken Christian's genius to distil emotion into
poetry, but I have always understood the sentiment. Understood it? I ache for
it. It is my inspiration, my reason for living... my torment.
I gaze across the rooftops. Light spills
across the night from Satine's open window, but it does not reach my hiding
spot. Here, it remains dark... dark and lonely, and I make no attempt to
disguise the tear that slides slowly down my cheek. Here my mask may slip, the
truth may surface. Here the heartache may finally be acknowledged, if only to
myself. How apt that I look on from high above the darkened streets, alone,
aloof, apart- doomed to dream from afar forever.
Just to love. Just to love and be loved in
return. How I long to find such a love, to find a place where I can rest in
the certainty that I am cherished. How I long to share all that is unique and
beautiful inside me. For someone to acknowledge that beneath the crippled body
there exists a soul that overflows with warmth, with art, with poetry. The
Parisian brothels, the absinthe -none of it has been enough to extinguish the
flame that burns within me. Yet it seems that this world has no place for such
idle wishes. The clown must never shed a tear. The show must go on, even if
the only role afforded to me is that of the jester.
Even from this distance, I can sense the joy
that fills Christian's heart. His world must seem filled with poetry and music
right now, and I lean forward slightly, trying to capture some of the warmth
of requited love, if only vicariously. Satine and Christian form a perfect
silhouette in the window, and I watch as he pulls her closer, her arms
encircling his waist, their lips meeting in warm embrace, giving in to
passion, to love, creating a world where nothing exists but the two of them. I
turn away as another tear begins its lonely journey.
Satine. Oh, Christian, the reason that I
understand what you must feel is that I, too, know what it is to love Satine.
I know it with every breath, every beat of my heart. I know how the warmth of
her smile fills your heart, how the sound of her voice stills your breathing
in an instant. You would perhaps be surprised if I were to be so frank as to
share my unspoken dreams with you. Perhaps you would have difficulty
envisaging the depth of feeling that lies hidden beneath, perhaps I have
played the role of the clown too well. But to know the warmth of Satine's love
in return? That is something that I long ago consigned to the realm of
impossible dreams. So I hide my heartache beneath so many layers of bravado
that I scarcely know myself who I am anymore.
Music dances on the night air, and I pick up
the refrain, adding my own sad harmony. "How wonderful life is now
you're in the world."
