Final Thoughts.
My life has never been without its troubles. I am not an innocent, and I am not guiltless. There are hundreds of things that I could have done, should have done, may have done, but never thought, in depth, as to how they have affected my life. Is my soul free? Could I possibly die and look into the face of Saint Peter to have him yield to my entrance? It seems so strange to ponder such things. I am still young and yet my body is dying. I will not live much longer. The darkness of this place closes in on me as it always has. In the darkness I have never been happy, as I was never truly happy in the light. I see that I was never happy at all.
As I lay here, in this bed, my heart throbs to thinks of the things that I could have done. The wonders that I have never, in my life, had the courage to obtain. I am a coward. My life has always been a lie. I had always taken the easy way. That is the lie, I know it now. Life is difficult, there are challenges that we should face but there is always an easy way out. It may not seem like it in the beginning, but in looking later, it is the wrong choice. I've made a lot of wrong choices, taken too many easy roads and now here I am, staring into the face of death, and ugly inhuman face. I only now know that I have never seen such a cruel face before. His face was never this bad. I was such a fool.
Could it really have been possible that my only happiness was in that place, a place that I still, even now so close to death, cannot say its name. A place I had seen as the destruction of my innocence and the absolute worst experience in my life. How stupid I was. It was in that place that I was free. Free to believe in magic and myth. To think that angels and demons really existed. That I had been visited by an angel of music. How I thought myself mad, once I had left. How foolish I had felt and yet the look in his face, when I left him, haunts me to this very day. How could I have been so cruel. He was not innocent, but he was angry, unloved, and unable to see past his disfigurements himself. He was never cruel to me. He only begged me to love him. To see beyond the outside and to experience all the wonder that was within him. How I have not lived without him.
Oh how he was beautiful. When I had closed my eyes and all I could hear was that voice. The voice that made me believe in angels. It was the voice of an angel. He was gifted, so very gifted in so many ways. He was like a god, on this earth. To create and understand the world as he did and to sing with a voice that only God himself could have conceived. How beautifully tragic he was. He who had to learn to survive as a beast would survive, all the while fighting for a human right that was supposed to be his. A natural right to live like all human beings. He had dissected bodies and though, I know nothing about the human body, I am sure his heart beets, his blood is as red as mine and how his heart would have looked identical to mine if they lay beside each other.
How he was beautiful and mysterious, even before I had seen his face. The mask. I thought that his face would be so beautiful and that was why he had to hide it. If I had been able to look at it, how I longed to see it, I would die in an instant and be swept into the arms of an angel and brought to heaven in that moment. That when we stood, together, at heavens gates they would question him, why he had brought such a plain and homely looking girl into paradise on his wings. That was what I believed. Now I know that his face was my punishment.
How could I have been so selfish, to deny him something he had wanted so desperately. All he wanted was love. Never feeling love. Never being touched without a shaking hand or a shudder. How cruel the world is. Why, God, would you do something so cruel to something so beautiful. Why make him a creature of the night, a monster to the unknowing eyes. He was not a monster by his own choice. He had to be a monster because people said so, because you said so. Why create such cruelty, when a mother will not even look on her child. When she is filled with fear because he looks like he is dead. He should have been dead. You should not have done that to that poor soul. Leave the angels in heaven where they belong. He was to beautiful to be so bitter, and frightening. He did frighten me.
I think on it now and I cannot bare to think I was frightened. What will my body, my hair, my face, look like when I am dead. I will not look as I once did. I do not look like that now. My husband will not look on me now. I believe it is because my skin is graying. My eyes are darkening. My hair is falling out. I am a corps. I am just waiting to die. I am what he had always been. But I deserve to be frightening now. How cruel I was to not love him.
But I did. I never forgot him. How could I forget. Those eyes. Those pleading yellow eyes. Oh, how my heart aches to remember his eyes and their sorrow. How I could only remember their rage, their hate, until now. He was pleading with me. Pleading for me to see through the darkness. Through the shell that was on the outside. His voice had tried to carry me into his mind. To look on his soul as it really was. But I was stupid. I had to remove the mask. I had to see the greatest beauty in the world. Oh god, how I was stupid. I had seen the beauty in him. I had learned his deepest secrets and seen his soul. But I had to see his face. What a monster I was.
I do not deserve to die now. It would be the easy way out. A way to forget everything that I have done. How cruel I was in my youth. How could he ever forgive me. He loved me. I hate to seem selfish or to confident with myself, but he would forgive me. But I do not believe that God will forgive me. I do not deserve what was placed in front of me so long ago. Yes I am a wealthy woman. I married well. I have children and I had fame but I am not happy in my ignorance anymore. How ignorant I was. Oh how I hate who I was.
Have I changed? Has this illness changed me or has it only allowed me to realize the errors of my ways. Is this the true repentance that God wishes us to find? It must be, because I hear his voice even now. If I was not to learn the errors of my selfish life, would I hear the soft melodious sounds of his voice? It calls to me now. Deep down, in the farthest reaches of my mind, I can hear him again. The soft loving songs that lead me to him. Oh how beautiful the songs are. They are soothing. I feel myself drifting away. I feel no pain anymore.
It fills me with a warmth that I haven't felt in so very long. I left that place and, even in the warmest days of summer, I was freezing cold. But now, that voice, that soul, those songs, fill me with warmth. I do not deserve to feel this happy, and yet tears, hot tears, scorch my face. Where is my angel? I do not deserve you and yet I need you. I shall never look on heaven without your guidance. You have always been my guide. Please come to me just one more time.
I loved him. There are so many different kinds of love. Love is real. It is passionate. It is everlasting. Some loves seem to end and yet they live on in the memories. That voice is a memory. My most pleasing memory, because I loved it. I did love my husband and I know that he loved me, unconditionally. He would not look on me in my illness because I frightened him. Because I was leaving him. He was afraid we'd never meet again. We may not, but if he has been good then God will grant him that pleasure. We will meet again, in some distant garden, or in an opera house lobby. Perhaps he will learn to love again and I must leave him because I am not the one. I am not the one for him.
He has always known I was not. I felt it to, toward the last years of my life. I know he will love again. He will morn me for a long time. He will visit my grave with my children and they will weep. I do not deserve their sorrow. I was wicked and foolish. But they loved me and so they will remember me.
I weep now for him. For that voice and his solitude. I had never thought to weep for him. Who was there with him when he died? He was old, he has to be dead. Could he have outlived me? Perhaps he had. Perhaps his heart would break to know I was ill. He would come to my side and sing to me. I hear the voice, he is here. Or is that just the memory? Of course, how foolish of me, I am not worthy enough to have the angel of music by my side, during my suffering. I believe, now, I know how he felt. Oh how I long for you. Come and comfort me. Guard me. Guide me into that beautiful paradise. But no, he will not come. I am undeserving. I was cruel and deceiving to him. He will find true happiness in the realm of God and I will stay, waiting forever, for something that I hear only in my memories. It is my turn to live forever in darkness. Oh please, forgive my naivety. Please, oh please, forgive me my trespasses. I am sorry.
There is darkness all around me now. No sounds. No warmth. I am chilled through and through. Only dark. I hear my weeping. Anguish has over come me. My heart would break in two if it was removed from my chest. No, it is gone, I have no heart to beet anymore. I am a corps. I am as he was, when we lived together in the house beyond the lake. I long, just to touch his hand. To hear his voice. To look into those eyes. But I cannot. There is nothing around me but black. Dark, cold, blackness.
Softly, my ears ring with the sound of his voice. The vibrato, his falsetto, and the legato of the melody. Oh how beautiful. Lifting me up. Filling my soul. He has to be the most beautiful creature that God has created. Listen, can you hear what I hear. Just there, in the back of your mind. Beautiful isn't it? That is him. The angel of music sings. I wish for nothing more then to float along for all eternity on the beautiful melody of his song. I cannot make out the words. They are only vowels and syllables. He sings of nothing that the human ears can understand. But the heart, oh the heart. It know. It hears that melody. I wish to sing as well. Dress me in white and let my harmony blend with the melody of the angel.
He stands just before me. His hand outstretched to me, strong, protecting. The mask on his face. I wish to look on his face. I am not afraid of him anymore. He is cloaked in darkness and yet there is light all around us. Can this be happening? Is this another dream? A terrible, delusional dream, that I will wake from in tears? His voice rings all around me. I cannot help but take his hand. It is warm. I feel it through his glove. Yes, his strong hand. He still sings, oh how I wish he would never stop. I wish to see his lips form the vowels. I want to speak. I cannot. The words wont come out. I want to tell him I love him. He needs to hear those words. I am ready to give them to him of my own will. Let me say them to you.
His eyes are blue. His hair is dark. His skin rich and without lines. Yes, I am looking on him now. He has removed the mask and he stand before me, smiling. We have come together at last and I am not worthy of his genius. He has not let go of my hand. He still sings. At last I sang as well. On the air floated the melody and the words I had been longing to say. He knows that I love him. God is good. The gates are open to us and we will enter together. Forever I will sing my praise. He is what he has always wished to be and I am plain. This is how I wish to be. I wished him to be beautiful. I wished I were the beast. Not in his eyes. Never could I ever be anything less to him. He has always loved me. I do not think I shall ever weep again for I have found all the happiness that I had lacked. He is here, forever.