214782
….Why would you ever choose that number.
Where do I even begin with you?
You are…something I could have never dreamed you would be to me. You have seen me at my strongest, at my weakest, and at every point in between. You did not flinch, you did not falter, and you did not turn your back even when I was venomous and cold. Which…admittedly, was more often then I’d care to admit.
And still you stayed loyal to me and my cause. Through everything. I can never thank you enough. Fair, that your other self did not care for me as much as you did, there was not much there at all, save for venom and ill will…most of which I still don’t understand the origin of.
We had an understanding, you and I. It was nothing personal, nothing romantic. It was a mutual agreement, almost a transaction, and there were no strings or trip wires or feelings involved. We had our friendship to cover that. Our personal lives were their own, separate entities. And it was a perfect working business relationship.
You came to me one day, with all but your heart in your hands, and I didn’t say no. How could I? You were an old and dear friend. You trusted me, in your vulnerability, and I took you home to heal. I was convinced you loved another, as you were convinced that I did. And, at the time, neither of us were wrong. There was no danger. You needed a distraction, I needed a distraction. That was all it was.
And then something slipped. I thought I imagined it, at first. There was a different passion in your words, in your voice and your actions. It was nothing, I convinced myself. A wounded heart crying out for something to force the pain away from it. Nothing more. And that was fine. That was perfect. Normal, even.
When I left to speak to my son a few days later, you were in a chair, asleep in the sunlight the window provided you. It was the most bizarre and beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You looked so at peace. I felt like I was walking to my death and you didn’t reprimand me for being foolish or ask me to take you along. You sat quietly as I explained, you listened, and you did not ask me why. Not because you didn’t care, I think. Simply because you understood. When I left, I was certain you wouldn’t be there when I returned.
But you were. You were there, sitting on my roof, watching the fireworks play across the sky. Mesmerized, but aware, as ever. We had wine and conversation until day break. But that wasn’t anything new. You told me you were going back to the academy. That you needed to see Charles. There was something wrong with your mind and you were falling on the battlefront. I asked you if were going to see Azazel. You fell silent. I told you I thought it was foolish, too soon, anything I could say to change your mind. All of it true. In response, you silenced me with one question. Wouldn’t I do the same if it were Magda? I laughed after a moment, and said that was beside the point.
Again we understood one another.
Again, that was nothing new.
The difference was that instead of me solely deferring you for your own benefit, I knew in the back of my mind that I was doing it for mine.
It was the first time I felt the unmistakable pang of envy.
I immediately scolded myself for it. It was foolish, after all. Nothing was different. There was no relationship. You were his. I was solitary. It was perfect as it was. It was the wine, that’s all. Too much wine.
I cannot describe what it was seeing you in the condition you left yourself in after your final encounter with him. It unnerved me, infuriated me, terrified me and filled me with a brand of sorrow I had rarely touched. To feel you so cold and lifeless in my arms when I carried you back to your bed…it threatened my core and set me on a razor sharp edge. I thought I would bring the building down on anyone who dared enter that room.
You spoke…it must have been to Mystique, because you didn’t seem to be aware of my presence. You were fighting her, trying to tell her she was wrong. And then you changed the subject to me. I don’t think either of you realized at the time that I was holding you…because you said, perhaps for the first time, that you loved me.
And, perhaps for the first time as well, I didn’t know what to do.
But the anger was gone. The wrath, the chaos. Nothing else mattered in that fleeting, foolish little moment. I wasn’t even sure I’d heard you correctly. But it was true. I’d heard you just fine.
You changed my life in a matter of seconds.
When I tell you you are beautiful, I am not only looking at your flesh. I am looking at you. All of you. Every inch, every measure from your eyes to your soul. And it remains the truth.
I will rarely ever say I love you, because it is simply not enough. It never has been. It never will be. Everything you are, everything you’ve done, everything you apparently will do. No words could ever express.
Never doubt your place at my side, because it will not change.
What I feel for you will not change.
I’m stubborn and obsessive, and that’s barely scratching the surface.
I don’t care if this is a number game.
Caro Corvo.
Ti amo più delle parole consentono.
E che non cambierà mai.
