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amadeo I don't understand him anymore; he's not the young indulgent boy I once knew. Sometimes I can feel the coldness in his eyes peering right through my heart and it is too much to endure. I feel lost and confused. Armand and I speak to each other in delicate, benevolent tones, and it seems as if we were never once in love. Our past together is spoken of in light terms, meant to be relics of the past. Things have changed, yes, and Armand and I are barely acquaintances now. I believe I spoiled him and I can blame no one but myself for the way he is at present. He is the product of my love and of my selfishness. He‘s the embodiment of my very guilt. My reasons for loving him were selfish, yes, but I did love him with all of my heart. I stole him from the mortal world like Ganymede, charming him with my sweet and tender confessions of love and seducing him with luxury and gold he never imagined possible in this life. To him, I seemed like a God out of Heaven. In his heart, he both feared and loved me for this. Loving me in return turned him from every belief that he had clung so to in his boyhood of saintly faith. Loving me was his sin, his rejection of purity that he never felt he deserved or was worthy of in the first place. I wanted to purify him with my love. My kisses were brought about by my own need for him, though. He saw this and perhaps also took advantage of me. I gave in to him; I became his slave in being his Master. It is my own fault things are the way they are now. I failed him again and again. When he needed me I could not save him. Did he become what I I had always hated just to spite me? Armand does not see how much I still feel for him in complete love and devotion. That is why I keep my distance-- to protect him from my own imperfection and the faults that once destroyed his life. He has such an exquisite face that hides a bruised soul and spirit. I want to mend his pain; I want to make the same promises I once did. But they would do no good just as they did none in the past. As I told him once, my love for him will remain out of reach, hidden away, where it can hurt neither of us. But that is a lie and I've always been aware of it. Maybe he is too and simply does not care. © Marius de Romanus |