Thank you, Angelli...

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Longing

Who knows the secrets of a man's mind? Of a man's heart? How hard is it to tell by someone's eyes what they feel - if only there was some truth in the statement that 'the eyes are the windows of the soul'...
       Who knows the secrets of the music, of the stars, of the roses and of the… heart of the man?
       As the chords echoed in the night, no other sound was heard. The music sounded hot, sensual, but carrying a hint of melancholy and also, because the instrument, shining silver in the dark, silhouette illuminated by the moon, was rather old fashioned for a time where cars float and a shuttle takes you to outer space with so little effort.

Cyber City. I love you.
      I hate you.

   "Tears... there were a time where they could indeed roll down my eyes, and now I wonder, where did those tears go?"
      Silver tears run down pale cheeks, but the cheeks are so numb they can't feel; the heart so hard it can't realize. Protected by a shield of stone, whose little outlet of escape is that hot music the neighbours learned to listen to, to love and to respect.
      Saxophone.

    The music eventually ends, and crimson lips part ever so slightly as the long and pale hands lower the instrument down. Those eyes of mahogany colour catch a glimpse of a falling star - that is taking quite a while to fall... and has a different brightness. It's obviously a space shuttle of some sort... leaving a strand of silver behind as it slowly crosses the sky, kissing the atmosphere with a sudden fire colour, and then getting normal again. Silver star.
      The long hand releases the top part of the sax to remove some of the white strands from the shoulders. And those eyes catch the movement as though the hands and eyes and hair didn't belong to the same person behind them.

"How come a young man has such white hair?"
      "I do not know the answer to this question."
      "Oh, but you do. You're smarter than you want to appear."
      "I want to appear stupid."
      "Why...?!"
      "If I don't, they'll blow off my head. Such a gruesome way to die."
      "......!"

    Behind the cameras. They never really show everything, now, do they?

"It's so smooth, so... silver."
      "...."
      "When you send me away, would you give me some?"
      "Some what?"
      "Some hair. I want a strand of your hair."
      "What for?!" (Amused, a smile.)
      "I want to remember you in my eternal sleep, I want to take a part of you with me."
      Pale hands slide down the narrow hips, bringing up the monofilament, to cut a diagonal strand of hair, offering to another hand, not as pale, but pale enough to be dead.
      "Thank you."
      "Why do you want a part of me with you?"
      (No one ever wanted a part of me before.)
      "Don't... make me say those words."
      A long, crimson-nailed finger finds the other person's lips. Silencing them. "Then, don't say them."

    Those eyes close... the shirtless figure holding the saxophone turns to look inside the dark room. He was sitting on the window's edge. Overlooking Oedo. Now... he's not, anymore. He's standing up, sax in hand, looking at the lover asleep on his bed.
      And said lover actually wasn't sleeping at all. The lover is bulky, not delicate; is male, not female. And he's rough but understanding.
      "Why do you still think of her? She is gone."
      "I don't really know. I just do."
      "Did you love her?"
      "Yes." The static figure with an also-silver silhouette answers towards the dark. The lover lying in the dark.
      "What about me? Do you love me?"

    Benten smirks, placing the saxophone aside, heading towards the bed. "Don't... make me say those words." He sits at its edge, close to the lover lying there.
      The lover rises to a sitting position, and wraps Benten softly in his arms. "Then, don't say the words. I do not think I would be able to bear the truth, be it the one I want to hear, or not."
      "Do you wish me to lie?"
      "We had plenty of that."
       Benten nods in silence. A hand going straight towards the collar. Instinct.
      "You could have removed that, you know." The lover tells the pale man, having removed his own.
      "I know." Benten says, softly, "But I don't think I could bear to live without my memories. They are all I have left."
      "If you could have one wish granted?"
      Benten smirks, leaning into the embrace, finally giving in. "I do not have any regrets for the things I did. I do have regret for things I never did. If I could have one wish granted, I would do what is undone."
      His lover nods, understanding - nothing at all. "And what didn't you do?"
      "I never learned to say those words."

© 2003 February       ~*~Angelli~*~

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