20 December 1999"If I should choose to fall apart
Don't you think you should let me?
If I should choose to die alone
You should forgive and forget me"
--Cocoon, by Joydrop
20 December 1999
Santiago de la Cruz,
You do realize that you are the most enigmatic and infuriating individual I have ever met? Let me 'splain.
I remember these things about you: The first time I ever met you, you were lurking in the shadows, brooding around your infamous grandsire. Things needed to get done, they send in the handiman, Santiago and voila, problem solved. I was immediately impressed. Yet you always managed to lurk in the shadows. A little birdie named Kellie informed me of a sacred union that was to happen. A painting was commissioned as a gift. Someone playing an interesting practical joke, insults the hosts and you emerge enraged and ready for whatever anyone throws at you. The situation is diffused and life returns to normal. An evil individual looking to ruin everyone's happiness kills an innocent woman. An entire domain witnesses the burning rage of one man. Santiago emerges from the shadows and promptly dies... A painting is completed.
Somehow, some way, the self destruct shadow returns from death.
Another beautiful woman on his arm. No questions are asked. Not
knowing what else to do, a painting is presented. For a split
second, the mighty Santiago is speechless. Is it possible? I guess
so, for I saw it with my own eyes. Moments later, more individuals
wishing to ruin fun, come along and the shadow springs into action.
I don't hear any word from the shadows for a goodly long time.
One night, all alone, the handsome stranger appears from the darkness amongst the gatherers and offers these words, "If there is anything you should require, you have but to ask, Senorita Desidarius." And again there was silence.
Again, alone, the handsome shadow and I meet amongst the masses. You looked mildly distressed and I took an interest. I asked what was wrong, of course, nothing was. Then, there was laughter. You commented that I was the only one that laughed at your jokes. That the others always looked at you oddly, but I laughed. I think I might have seen a smile tweak at the corners of your mouth. A few nights later, the offer proposed months earlier is called upon. A massive structure is built. Payment? None. None apparent, that is. Just a minor request, "Don't tell people who helped you to build it. Very many of those here, do not trust us." Later, the building was always regarded as the greatest gift of benevolence and generosity anyone had ever offered to me. I cherished it as much as any one person can cherish a building.
In time, I began to frequent an office building's meeting room, shrouded in darkness and shadows more than the gathering of the masses. The reason was barely explainable. The company was better, the conversation more stimulating and the social climate more relaxed but tense at the same time. Your dark figure ever gracing the head of the table. There was something about this curious shadow that compelled me to continue to return. Something so distinct and beautiful. Over time, the beautiful woman who brought him back to this place, left. No questions were asked until much later.
I go away for reasons always unknown. And there is a knock at my door. A Senor de la Cruz has arrived to see me. For some reason, I'm smiling like an idiot. What the hell is wrong with me? I can't figure it out until I discover that someone has decided to come and try to kill you. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. What kept me returning to an office building, rather than comfortable Elysiums. What made me smile at the merest reminders of you. Living in that building because you built it for me. All pointed back to one thing. Love. An emotion I did not ever know. Nothing like familial love, or friendly love. The kind of love that makes a heart ache at the mere thought of separation. I fumbled over my words and emotions like a toddler learning to walk. But you picked me up and held me close because you understood the emotion and felt the same thing.
A blur of romance, lack of communication and raw feeling for four months. And then lies, fear and pain and another death for another two. Three times, I have had to face the idea of your death. The first, I barely knew you. The second, I had just found you. The third, I had completely lost you. The third killed something in me. But we're still talking about you. You never die.
Lately, you never feel. You exhibit false emotion and cold calculation in examining others. A master manipulator, always. Trying so hard not to feel. Fighting constantly to guard from others. The confusing part is watching you fight yourself to open up to me. I'm the lucky one. I've given up trying to figure out why you decided to choose me. I'm going to live for the moment and pray it doesn't end. But things always end. Your fear is that it will end in death. Namely, mine. As you have the inability to die. I watch you fight to trust me. To have faith in love. I watch your struggle as you push me away further and further. Building thicker and thicker walls to keep your emotions locked away. Have you ever stopped to consider that if you push me away because of fear that I will die in your arms, that it will kill me? Of course, Sara's body will still be alive and her existence will be continued, but the spark of life, beauty and love inside her? What will become of it if she is pushed away again?
The enigma is this. You are an emotional being fighting emotion except in one case where you are fighting to hold onto it. I'm trying to solve which side will win. Don't tell me though. Like any good suspense thriller, the ending is always the best part. Spoiling it would ruin things.
I'll let you in on a little secret, though. I am an emotional being who is a slave to her emotions. They rule me with reckless abandon. My emotions are telling me that I am madly in love with you. They tell me that regardless of what happens to always wait for you. That love will win the battle. I have faith in that.
The sun is rising soon and my body grows tired. Thank you for enduring these words.
20 December 1999 © 2001 by Jessica Robinson. Reproduction of any part without permission is strictly prohibited.