I don’t understand him anymore; he’s not the young indulgent boy I once knew. Sometimes I feel the coldness in his eyes peering right through me, seeing me inside and out, unwrapping my secrets with nothing offered but indifference. I feel lost and confused. Armand and I speak to each other in delicate, benevolent tones, and it seems as if we were never shared the love we did. Our past together is spoken of in light terms, meant to be relics of the past. The pains of abandonment are glossed over and pretended away, though the tightness of our words betray our memories. We have created a false association that neither of us can live in, and so we go out own ways.

Things have changed, yes, and Armand and I are barely acquaintances now.

I believe I spoiled him as a child, and I blame no one but myself for the way he is at present. It is arrogant or presumptuous to take credit for that? Perhaps so. In the scheme of his life, our time together was very short. Yet I like to think that I had a significant hand in his shaping being that I raised him from wounded child to confident young man. He is the product of my love and of my selfishness. He is 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. To him, I seemed like a God out of the Heaven he was raised to believe in. In his heart, he both feared and loved me for this. Loving me turned him away from every sacred belief that he as a boy had clung to. Because of me, he abandoned saintly faith. Loving me was his sin, as it was mine; his love meant a rejection of the purity in him that he never felt he deserved or was worthy of in the first place. I wanted to purify him with my love because I could see the innocence and beauty in his wounded body and soul. My kisses were the manifestations of my own need for him and saw this and perhaps also took advantage of me. Such a naive boy, I thought in ignorance, but he could see through me. I gave in to him; I became his slave and Master.

I failed him again and again. When he needed me I did not save him.

Did he become what I had always hated just to spite me? Did he curse morals, ethics, and even humanity because it was the antithesis of what I had tried to ingrain in him? My angel had become a filthy demon, and yes I was betrayed.

Armand does not see how much I still feel for him, or my 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. His exquisite face 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 how just as they did neither of us any good 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 know that. Maybe he knows it too and simply does not care.

78 thoughts on “Amadeo/Armand

  1. I’m so sorry for that situation. Maybe Armand feels the same, but he is restive to talk about. Maybe talking face to face is a solution. You always are sensitive and gentle, but what if you try to speak him of?

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    1. The unfortunate nature of our relationship is that I am unable to say the right words to him, and he is cannot seem to understand my intentions ever. The more we speak, the wider the gulf between us grows. I don’t think anything can be fixed.

      1. I think I don’t understand. The right words….you always said the right words to him. What is changed?

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  2. I always have this sad face when I think of you two and what happened to both of you. I feel pain inside. I can’t stand all that comes from a less of communication, it is cruel and uncomfortable and extremely wrong.

    1. Your empathy is so sweet. Let me assure you that though there is so much pain to be felt, I prefer happiness to it. The company I keep here keeps dark thoughts away.

        1. The problem is that I am a much better pessimist than I am an optimist, so it is an eternal battle against nature and will.

  3. I think it’s a matter of choices. You can choose to be a pessimist or an optimist one, despite of your nature. You only have the key. If you prefer happiness in this situation and can find a cause to be happy you choose optimism, wich is the only way to face sadness and carry on, whatever belongs to your nature.

  4. Marius, take it from me, he loves you. But as you said, he is no longer the boy you once new and therein lies the problem. It isn’t anything you did, it is he experiences he suffered. The loneliness, the heartbreak, the year he loved dead below he ground with he Paris coven. To survive that, and of course Armand is a survivor, one had to build walls around the heart so thick even the builder can no longer break them. We forget how to love, how to allow ourselves to be loved.

    Hurt is a terrible thing. But for some vulnerability is worse. To love is to open yourself again to hurt, to need someone has he once (and probably still does) needed you is to be frighteningly vulnerable. To survive such a desperate need of someone… Somete it is easier to push them away, to deny ourselves that which will fulfill us. Sometime it is easier to live half fulfilled, half alive, then to admit the need of someone. I imagine that he fears that if he opened up to you once more, and through some circumstance or other lost you again… It would be he death of him. To go through pain like that twice? I would wager he thinks such a loss would be more than he could endure. And so better to keep you at a distance than risk such pain again.

    1. Pardon me, must correct a sentence. “The years he lived as one dead beneath the ground with the Paris coven.”

    2. I have to say, I agree with that completely. Especially because I too believe that particular philosophy, and I have found myself quite happier as a result. I don’t worry for my heart, and I don’t fear that it will rot away. But I worry for him and for his, because I want his past to be just that: his past, and nothing more than an ugly nightmare that is soothed away by the presence of someone who has finally, for once, made him feel as if he is safe to love once again.

      I do not think I bear all responsibility for what he has become. I had my hand in it, yes, but in the end we all make our own choices and he chose his path. I chose to suffer a thing worse than death because I would not submit to misery. He chose to submit to misery instead of fight.

  5. Poor Marius! My heart aches for you both. Aches for you that he seems so unreachable now. Aches for him that cannot see his way forward. Oh I sit here on the verge of tears and think how fragile and delicate a thing is the human heart

    1. It has taught me to cherish the people and things I have in this world, and to hold them close and to protect them. Sometimes I think about him and I feel nothing, not even a flicker of desire or warmth, but instead there feels like a tiny ball of pressure inside of my stomach, like a star about to explode, and its rolling and burning with all of my feelings for him. And by some force of will and practise, I am able to keep my feelings inside of this tiny supernova so that they do not reach my head. Yet even then my heart aches for the loss of those feelings that, even though so painful, give me breath and life.

      Then when I want him, I want him so much that I feel like I am dying a miserable death. I hate myself, and I hate him, and I hate those who took him from me, and I hate that he gave in to misery and death instead of fighting. I hate that he is still so luminescent, or like a sun blazing around the edges of a moon trying to eclipse it and bathe everything it touches in darkness instead of light and beauty. I think he is wearing a skin that could be peeled away, not with words or promises, but with truth in intention. In meaning. And in stability. Even fallen angels are angels, and even without wings they still shimmer with innocence and impossible beauty, no matter how the world seeks to strip it of both.

      How I wish.

  6. Do you ever think the day will come when he will awaken? When he will truly learn to live again and feel the full blazing heat of happiness, of passion, of love again? Or do you think him truly lost, you beloved one, your angel?

    1. You see, this is something not so easy to answer because my brain and my heart go against each other. My heart wants to believe that he is not lost, and that one day he will understand happiness again, and it aches for this to become real. I would do anything, and ask nothing in return, to make this happen.

      But my brain assesses things as they have been, and I think about what he has gone through and how very closed he is, and I think to myself that he is lost forever and can never change. I think this and I know in my head that I am right, and then my heart begs it to stop.

        1. There is a part of Armand that now resents them because they have become what he never wanted them to be: just like him. For that he blames me, and it is my fault.

  7. at least, i’m glad to see that someone fascinated by this couple like me.I never thought that i was so excited to read about relations between two men. I LOVE THEM VERY MUCH

        1. You have to excuse the comment vanishings. You see, I have them under moderation. I don’t want to miss a single comment, so I require that they be approved personally. In that way, I am able to read each one and respond individually. Rest assured that I get them.

  8. Marius, IT IS LOVE.You know, I’m disagree with your confidence that your reunion with Amadeo inpossible.
    Sorry for my English,I’m from Russia, like Amadeo:)

      1. It is love still, surely it is. For once you have cared for someone so deeply, with such abandon and giving over of yourself, surely it must be impossible not to always carry some piece of that Love in your heart, always.

        Perhaps it is tempered by fear and heartache, by doubt and loneliness, but I’m sure at its core, it is still love.

        1. It feels encased and restrained, as if there exists inside of me a wall and heavy chains that bind it deep. These are no easy things to surpass.

        2. No. Of course not. You have lived longer and survived more than I can imagine. It makes sense that such things are difficult to overcome. Especially when the chains have had so many decades to grow strong and heavy, the walls so many centuries to grow high and wide.

          It puts me in a state of fear actually. For I have seen many a human grow bitter and angry and those lives are so comparatively short that I can’t fathom what lifetime after lifetime may hold. It makes my soul despair.

        3. I have seen many immortals become bitter, resentful things. Some of them turn evil, some of them become recluses, and some of them choose to take their own lives. Immortality seems a romantic thing, but the reality of it is exhausting and frankly just sad. A hundred lifetimes, a thousand lifetimes, of mistakes and regrets that are never forgotten. The ramifications are ten-fold.

        4. So what is it that carries you through these nights. Are there some hopes, some passions still? Or have all your dreams been burnt away?

        5. I always have my hopes and dreams, no matter how private or small. I keep myself busy with work and research. I am certainly never bored or without a singular purpose. I move from one task to the next, never allowing for much idle time.

        6. “Work and research.” And what is it that you are working on and researching these days? Do you paint still?

        7. I am charting the evolution of the sacred landscape through Late Antiquity. A very fundamental change in both identifiable landmark and sacred geography, but also cultural concept of space and its meaning. It is a lot of difficult work. Yet I love it and I am enjoying every second of its terrible difficulty.

        8. Forgive me, for you will think me a fool, but “the evolution of sacred landscape”? I do not understand.

        9. It is most simply understood as this: a landscape of pagan churches becoming a landscape of Christian churches.

        10. Ah! I see.

          How very interesting. So I imagine that a bit of your research tracks the progress of Constantine?

          What an interesting topic. What drew you to it?

        11. I certainly do spend time tracking the progress of Constantine, along with many and sundry men of power and wealth across the landscape from west to east. It is in the east that we see occur a more fluid transition, or rather transformation, and are therefore able to derive a better understanding of “Late Antiquity” as an age of its own, not merely the legacy of Rome and the predecessor to the Middle Ages.

          What drew me to the field of Late Antiquity is the obscurity of it. It is absolutely a distinct and rich period of history, but it is often presented as a misunderstood little few pages sandwiched between two larger historical periods. Students learn that Rome fell, Byzantium rose in the West, and then everything became desperate, dark, and diseased. A lot of the discussions within the field of Late Antiquity involve what truly happened to Rome– did it fall or did it transform. And indeed, did it do both at the same time (which is what I argue, depending on geography).

          There is a lot left to be understood about this period. I find the question, “How did the glorious pagan empire of Rome become the desolate, scattered, Feudal, and unquestionably Christian Middle Ages?” The two are such polar opposites in every fundamental way that clearly something very important happened in the centuries in between.

        12. It sounds very interesting! I would very much like to hear (read) more on the topic.

          I, myself, very much enjoy history, particularly when studied from the point of the peoe who lived it, letters, journals and the like. So many people think that history is all about dates and places and so for them history is a stuffy topic. It never breathes, it never comes alive. But history is about the people who lived it. Their passions and their ideas and the actions that drove them. Greed, power, lust, love, religion, heresy; this is what drove people back in the day, what drives people still. And it is through the exploration of those ambitions both noble and sundry that history really speaks to us.

          Besides late antiquity, what other era captures your attention, Marius?

        13. The trouble is precisely that people do not get to experience history in a personal or hands on way, and so they never learn its relevance or value. Indeed, history is misinterpreted as nothing more than a confusing chronology of names, dates, and places. There is no inclusion of primary sources or documents of history. There’s no attempt to nurture critical thinking. Absent primary sources, history is impersonal.

          I quite like the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Some of the stories to come out of the history of the Catholic Church in the Middle Ages seem almost too unbelievable to be true. As for the Renaissance, Florentine history is full of whispers and double dealings, so it is like reading a grand and illustrated soap opera wherein people are assassinated on a daily basis.

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