Heartbeat |
(ofullständing)
Vincent never told me about this. I guess we are different in one way, but still the same. None of us breathe, yet we live.Non of us feel, yet we live. He learned to ignore his human memories, to accept that he could never be close to them again. Maybe that's why we split; he couldn't live with the difference.
I think he was disappointed in my needs to walk among them, trying to feel. He didn't tell me about the loneliness. He only told me about the glory, all the human limits we could break. Our love will last forever, he said, and I believed.
After all this time, I still se myself as a human. I'm old as time with experiences that tell me otherwise, but I still think like them. It's just memories, really, not actual feelings. It's funny; I would laugh if I could bring myself to it.
Mirror mirror on the wall
Tell me about it
Tell it all
The silence speaks for itself. I'm steering at the spot where my reflection should have been. I see nothing. Is that what I've become? Nothing? If Vincent was here he could give me all the answers, but he isn't. The last time we had a fight he said I had to act out the true me and stop living in the past. I asked him what the true me was. Then we fought for hours more and at last, before sunrise. And there I stood alone, in the middle of broken glass and hard feelings.
...
...
The loss of light makes regular people avoid the alleys. That's perfect. The fact that city people don't run heroic to rescue when the weak cries in vain is almost a shame. It's never easy for me to kill, but I have to. I close my eyes and don't want to face my own death. Therefore people have to sacrifice themselves for my survival. I don't forgett my victims! I remember them all. The surprise, the struggle, the pain and their relief when the pain - and life is over.
The corpse in the alley gives away my secret, but I don't care. I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling about being out tonight. Like somethings going to ... Maybe it's the cold wind coming in from the sea, maybe it's the ghost in me, wishing my beloved back.
When I get home there is a letter on my stairs.
" Thy soul shall find itself alone -
Alone of all earth - unknown"
I recoginze the old stile on the handwritingand I know these words. It's a part of my favorite poem, and there's only one person who knows.
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