little thing on Toulouse, since I'm steering myself away from Christian.
*!*Oh come on heart, you're breaking again
I wonder why you ever healed in the first place
Perhaps if you just stay broken from now on
It might save us both some hurting
Toulouse was born into a world of every luxury and refinement and died in a world of broken hearts and promises. He had an addiction to the deathly taste of Absinthe and through his days and years he found it was the only thing that gave him anything close to the truth he wanted. That's what the green fairy was for, after all; to make fantasies come true for fleeting moments, even if they're lies.
You and I have both grown used to you breaking
It's like a second nature
Sometimes we don't notice when you heal
Until you break again
He painted pictures worthy of angels and gods but never found them worthy of himself. Why paint pictures, of things and objects of the world when he could never actually have them? He could paint whores and Moulin Rouge dancers on canvases to keep for eternity in frames and shrines on his walls, but he would've rather had the real people and lived with them until they died instead of coloured pictures on paper.
And through all the breaking
You and I still want to open up to someone
We still want to be loved
We still want to feel something special, still believe
He's got twinkles in his eyes, which grow dimmer and dimmer by the day, slowly burning out from lack of love. His heart was always a delicate thing, breaking and shattering like glass. He never showed it; he was always good at hiding things, never one to want people to fuss over him or feel sorry for him. All he ever wanted, deep down inside behind the curtains of Absinthe and under the glitter of the Bohemian Revolution, was someone to love him; really and truly love him forever and ever. But who could ever really love a drunken, vice ridden gnome whose friends are just pimps and girls from the brothels?