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.