Writings Of A Child Of The Millennia
May 7th 2009
My dears, I am sorry that I haven’t written sooner in this. My ink hasn’t touched the page in quite a while. So many things have happened, they have overwhelmed me. This week has been a blur, a blur of pure happiness. And pair that with the fact that I haven’t been able to perfect a painting of a person who is perfection, the paint wouldn’t slide on the canvas in the way that I want it to. I can never be happy with a painting of him. His beauty is never right, his angelic beauty, his deep, dark caramel coloured eyes, his wonderful golden hair, his skin of cream. My dear sweet Amadeo.
I have had many loves in my life, but none such as him. He was the only one to stand up to me while he was still mortal, he always put his view out to me, I do admit he caught me off guard sometimes, so much that I had to think before I answered him.
I remember that one night of desperation he had. A few nights earlier I had told him to leave and he did, he went to Bianca’s and to a handsome English man, who had a temper on him. I knew of this, but I did not pull him back against his will, I knew he would come back of his own will, but this didn’t stop my anger, I painted him furiously, showing all the boys and teachers my love for him, our secret, I was unkempt, my hair shoved roughly away from my face, my grey tunic covered in paint and dust. He stood up to me when I frightened the boys away, the teacher pulling them safely to their rooms. I ran to my room and bolted the door, he sat outside and wept, he surprised me then, when I heard him running to get a battle axe, he knocked down my door, while I sat in disbelief at what he had done, never before had someone done this to talk to me. What happened next is what makes me feel guilty, I shall not speak about it, I cannot believe that I did what I did, he was too perfect to do it, but I did. I shouldn’t worry about it anymore, but I do.
I write this in the light of the Venetian moon, I can hear singing, many parties taking place, they sound very different to the time Armadeo and I lived here, very different, but I enjoy it. My old house is still standing, even after the fire, it had been modernised greatly and some of my paintings are still in it, the only ones to survive the fire.
I have had many loves in my life, but none such as him. He was the only one to stand up to me while he was still mortal, he always put his view out to me, I do admit he caught me off guard sometimes, so much that I had to think before I answered him.
I remember that one night of desperation he had. A few nights earlier I had told him to leave and he did, he went to Bianca’s and to a handsome English man, who had a temper on him. I knew of this, but I did not pull him back against his will, I knew he would come back of his own will, but this didn’t stop my anger, I painted him furiously, showing all the boys and teachers my love for him, our secret, I was unkempt, my hair shoved roughly away from my face, my grey tunic covered in paint and dust. He stood up to me when I frightened the boys away, the teacher pulling them safely to their rooms. I ran to my room and bolted the door, he sat outside and wept, he surprised me then, when I heard him running to get a battle axe, he knocked down my door, while I sat in disbelief at what he had done, never before had someone done this to talk to me. What happened next is what makes me feel guilty, I shall not speak about it, I cannot believe that I did what I did, he was too perfect to do it, but I did. I shouldn’t worry about it anymore, but I do.
I write this in the light of the Venetian moon, I can hear singing, many parties taking place, they sound very different to the time Armadeo and I lived here, very different, but I enjoy it. My old house is still standing, even after the fire, it had been modernised greatly and some of my paintings are still in it, the only ones to survive the fire.
♠ ♠ ♠
I am sorry, I could have written more, but this is all that I felt was needed.Marius x