The Impossibles

Sometimes, when I'm deep in wonder. Lost in my thoughts and the memories of remote ages. I still recall "our conversation". I recall when I would break down while holding the wine. When my tears still were watery, and your arms were tight around me.

Sometimes when I step on ashes, when I hear a violin in the distance. My imagination runs wild, and you are there by my side again. Nicolas. You are there with the violin leaned on your shoulder, eyes closed, focused on the sweet melody. The violin notes now seem so nostalgic. So out of place, and they don't belong here. Nor do they belong at Paris, or at the theater. Oh Nicolas, now my eyes are reddish, and the show can't go on. With a vampire crying blood.

Its useless now. I couldn't save you. I couldn't kiss you one last time. I couldn't watch your smile so careless and inviting, like the time you held my hand and spoke ever so soft, a reply to my brother's imprudent words.

"I am impossible too" We were the impossibles. The inevitable, were we? Were we anything at all?

And when the stars fade into the light, and my condition of immortal sends me underground. When the dawn comes to touch the earth, and I am forced into unconsciousness, when I drift into the solitude of my sleep, I can hear in the distance the sound of a violin, and I dream, mortal dreams.

"Lestat?" The soothing tune of his voice drives into his senses, as they lay in the wooden room, carefully tangled, with a bottle of wine between them.

"Nicolas?"He leans forward into the embrace, bearing his weight to the man below him, his hair barely touching Nicolas skin. Their eyes meet, their pink lips come to join ever so tender, and the cold of the night disappears in the warm bodies so close together.

"We are forever the impossibles"