I am not Apollo. I am not your avenging angel, Greek god of light and prophecy, but I could write you poems until the earth ran dry of ink. I could sing you praises that would be used to woo a thousand suitors, a hundred thousand, but you. You would always be the first. You would always be the first, for once.
I would trade the muskets in your fists for marigolds, the bottle to your lips for mine. At least for a moment. At least as long as you agree to share.
I would set our world on fire, but I would not ask of you to perish in it with me. I would ask of you to run until you can’t smell smoke. I would ask of you to spend awhile in the darkness, if only to find your own light. I would ask of you to rebuild Paris from our bones, to paint our bloodshed into history so that we may be immortal, together. Paint the gunpowder on our shirtsleeves, the ink stains on our fingertips. Paint the last murmured promises, broken, now, upon our lips. For the love of God, Grantaire, just paint.
I know that I am not exceptional. I am not blonde-haired, blue-eyed fury. I am not revolution disguised in marble, or a frock coat. But my blood is as red as his.
I believe in you. You will see.
Sometimes, the best foundations are laid on tragedy, because nothing is so stupid as to conquer. The true glory lies in convincing.
I don’t have anything super interesting up yet. Maybe eventually I will get around to character intros, scene descriptions, or even little sketches. For right now, it’s inspiration — mostly scenery, but also for character development.
This piece is new, probably a week old at this point, but I cannot stop reading it. For the first time in a long time, I am in love with something I have written. This isn’t about anyone in particular. It just is.
Reactions to it thus far have been: “Will you write my wedding vows?” “Who is ‘you’?” and “Read it again.”
I asked a while ago if anyone wanted me to record my poetry. For some reason a few of you said yes. This is the first piece, which I promise I have been trying to upload for weeks. (I haven’t had much spare time lately.)
I wrote this in my senior year of high school, which was 2011. It was a very weird time in my life, when a lot of things were changing (besides just the end of high school, the going off to college) and I was really stuck. I was really confused about who I was and who I wanted to be. I still don’t know, but I imagined my brother might be able to help me through it, and so I wrote him this. This is now two years old and it is still very, very special to me. I read this to a coworker for the first time a couple of weeks ago and she cried. That was the first time anyone had ever cried over anything I’ve ever written. I still don’t understand, but I hope that you enjoy this as much as she did.
Please check the tags on this post when you are finished with the video.
My voice is not talented enough for singing, so I must settle for poetry instead. For this, darling, I am sorry because trust me, I know that these sentiments would sound so much better in song. You have taught me that much. But you must understand that I have no gift for melody, just words, and although I try to make them pretty, sometimes they just fall short. With no musical backbone to hold them together, all of these things I keep trying to tell you are ephemeral, and I know you will not remember them. It is only because you sing to me that I have memorized everything you have ever said, because you are the melody to my harmony and I am an auditory learner. All I can do is figure out where the crescendos go. It is you who makes this song worth singing.