Our stars remain very much the same.
I must wonder if she realizes
that. If she gazes at the stars and
reflects. I know she does not sleep
well, but she seems content merely gazing in the darkness during the moments of
insomnia.
Or so she has in the past. I admit I have not visited her in quite a while. The temptation is near intolerable at
times. Hmmm…I wonder how she might react
now. If the lambs still scream, and if
so, what ailment causes their plight. It is displeasing to be at such ends when it comes to her affairs. I am not used to this, nor do I wish to be.
Nonetheless, I will not concede pride to watch after
her.
Much to my discouragement, it is manifest that while
her senses have developed certain acuteness, she remains unready.
Unready for me. What a devastating notion.
I suppose it's promising to note there is one person
in this world not so terribly hopeless and predictable, and though I wish for
her to remain all herself, it does grow rather tiresome repeating the same cycle
of tedious redundancy. Watching her
obliteration truly is painful, most especially with the knowledge of what could
have been. How I might have saved her
from this slow depersonalization.
It was her choice. Whether the product of her stubborn system of ethics or her simple
dedication to the values of her upbringing, I do not know. Perhaps it is cleanly because she is as
mulish as I am, and to forfeit her ignorance for the truth was to firstly
acknowledge that she was wrong from the beginning.
Humanity does not allow such simplicity.
I have caused her pain, and for that, I will never
forgive myself. In her eyes I stand the
epitome of her troubles, the sorrow and grief life has caused her. Perhaps her career would have escalated
without my input, suffering the causality of Catherine Martin. While it remains iniquitous that judgment is
surpassed only on gender, especially in these supposed modern days, her success
may or may not have been determined with the saving of that girl.
However, I'm sure she does not regret it. That is the pureness of Clarice, what I
admire the most, however perverse that might seem. Though it cost her whatever career she might have obtained in her
dreamland, she would not take back her actions knowing what she does today.
I wonder…with the following of our last encounter, the
burns she's survived from those masked as colleagues, even friends, would she
have ended our evening differently?
I close my eyes. Against the darkness, I still outline the image of Orion.
When did I become so passive? Never did I think a woman could have the
affect on me that she does, that I would risk what I have risked for her. I ached for freedom for eight long years,
and while meeting her initiated the end of an insufferable confinement, what
followed never satisfied me.
I thought I had the answer. It is distressful, though oddly entertaining that such intrigues
remain unknown to me. She is the great
mystery, one I will pine for perhaps until I die, even if it from afar.
My destruction came in such a simple package. I am not bothered with realization. If I were, I would not be here now.
I have attempted anger at what came of it all. Anger toward her for her lack of
understanding, but it always reverts to compassion and sympathy. She will be stuck in her world of bigotry
and politics for the rest of her life, trapped in a cage for all to gawk
at. Yes, she is the great survivor. She is the strongest person I know. And for all her intelligence, she remains
blind.
I have attempted hatred, and it still amuses me to
note how much that accomplished. In the
duration of my life, I don't believe any project undertaken in the past ever
resulted in such failure. This
surprises me, pleasingly so.
I have attempted to forget, but my will does not allow
that. Though remote, she might need me
someday.
I scoff. Need
me. She needs no one. I note this is gratifying, however
tragic. My Clarice is strong, has and
will overcome her obstacles.
I set her back, confused her, alienated her,
manipulated her, and desired her as much as a man could desire a woman. Beyond the boundaries of my rationality, all
reason suddenly seemed incoherent. My
actions were result of that.
I open my eyes, oddly disturbed. For years, I have joked of losing my
hearing. Tonight I question the senses
I have grown to recognize as impeccable, beyond the capabilities of ordinary
man.
Ever, I still my breathing to hear, that being perhaps
the only sound, however minimal, that obstructs the silence of the room. While I do not hear anything, something
within me stirs.
I am not a believer of telepathy. While I might entertain thoughts of time
revolutionizing itself to fit my needs, my intense yearning to see my sister
once more, feeble scientific theories such as the expansion of one's mind might
prove engaging science fiction, but I have never accepted it as fact.
Tonight, I consider.
I know she is awake. Awake to the darkness, to the lack of an impression in the pillow
neighboring hers. It saddens though
sinfully pleases me that she remains alone. I cannot stand the thought of her with someone who does not appreciate
her, and albeit, should such a man enter her life…I am in no place to
intervene.
It would be difficult.
That, however, does not concern me. I have little faith in the pawns of mankind
that someone would look beyond her lovely exterior to note what truly makes her
special. Anyone less than that does not
value my apprehension.
She cries to the darkness, though not audibly. She is in pain, and no one stands for her,
with her. From here, thousands of miles
away, I can smell her tears. Self-pity,
remorse, and unbridled sadness…she cries for these things. Cries but hears no answer.
I wish fervently to be with her. Dare I hope? Of course not. Hope is
for fools.
Still, I smile. I have found reason. This merits
consideration.
Little Starling. My dearest Clarice. Indeed, our
stars are the same. Perhaps that has
something to do with it.
I'd like to think so.
* * *