my commonwealth essay, which i am proud of. <3Blue. Blue was the colour of the eyes of the one who visited me so often.
Blue, Blaue. Blaue Rosen, a blue rose so rare of its kind. So exotic, so irreplaceable, so wanted, the rare flower that everyone wants, is mine. I was always so alone, in this room, the four white pristine walls confining me in. The door was always closed, no one visited me.
No one, but him.
We were always together, in the vast world of freedom and colours. He was bursting of colour, he was the rainbow, he was as red as the sunset, as pink as the flowers, and his eyes, as blue as the vast and unhibited ocean. He was always so free, so freely unconventional; he was so much like a butterfly. Always so free, never to be caught or possessed. His movements like the wave, smooth and so blue. The ocean’s child was he.
He would always be there with me.
Forever.
I was his cage from freedom, I was the coast. To end his endless boundaries. I was his possessor. But he would always lure me, with his beauty; ensnare me to follow into his world, his freedom.
He captivates me, he catches his captor.
Freedom was so bright, so blue. I would always look into his eyes for reassurance. Looking to the deep ocean, the vast sky, I fall. He was always there to catch me, my ballerina, my danseur, my Blaue. But I would not let myself catch him. To take away what he was, to take away his freedom, would make him different. It would make him, not him. In the room full of mirrors, we would practice. For our shows, our ballet, he was always my partner. He in the blue tights that make girls giggle was mine. But that would never be made known, not to him or any others. He was mine, to me, that way he won’t ever lose his freedom.
Blaue would always hold me high, and secure. My own blue tights shifting as I make movements in sync with his.
His actions were always flawless, and mine were always erroneous.
We were close, even after I was locked up. He was always there to visit me, and we would practice. Together, just the two of us, without the annoying girls that would ogle at what was mine. I take small pleasure in that thought.
When we danced, we were one. One with the timing, one in sync. And our shadows merged together. We were freedom; we showed people the freedom in our movements. We showed them the world. We showed them the blue of the sky and the azure of the ocean.
Blue was Blaue, and Blaue was freedom. And I wasn’t about to tame that.
The week after our biggest performance in Paris, I was locked in here. My captive prison, which was not Blaue.
He didn’t come to visit for a while, but he still came in the end. And he would always brush his fingers upon my wounds. The scabbed scar upon my dainty wrist. And sometimes we would talk for hours, about freedom, dancing. And we would sit in abundant silence. People would come in and look at us, my father, my mother, and my little sister. They would smile at Blaue, but sincerity would never reach their eyes, they would always avoid looking at him. They always focused on me, ignoring Blaue altogether. They would never understand us, our tangled relationship. They never fail to leave when I talk to Blaue, something I always feel grateful for.
He would sometimes push me to the floor and touch me in places that should not be touched, and bring me to see the ocean in this confined place. But my moaning never ceases to attract some unwanted attraction and looks of disgust from outside my cell. Blaue would always ignore those looks, and continue to bring my breath in huffs.
Faceless, dull people, would drag me to a room every twice a week, where a man would talk to me and ask me questions. Blaue always avoided coming when it was that day, he would sometimes stop by after one of those sessions when I feel particularly unhappy. His shirt would be blue, like his eyes. And I like that shirt; he would always wear it when I was unhappy.
He would always make me happy.
I don’t really like that man, he would ask me questions concerning Blaue, and then say that what Blaue is doing was wrong. I resent him for ill talking about Blaue.
I notice that I am always thinking of Blaue. Especially his blue eyes and dark hair, how his hair feels in my fingers, how soft his shirt is.
I love Blaue.
He always showed me freedom in my prison of four walls. I love him for what he was, but I don’t want to taint his freedom. He should not change because of me. I was a weak person; my covered scars on my wrists prove that, I am not strong enough for Blaue. I sometime wonder if Blaue does love me too. He challenges my hopes; a blue rose like him would never love a shrub like me. My gender was an obstruction, it keeps me from hoping too much, it hurts, but it was a way for me to not taint him. It was a double edged sword.
He would kiss me tenderly, and I wouldn’t understand why. Those kisses and the touches just make me love him more. I love kissing him; it brings us closer, away for the skin that separates us. He would shout back to the people who call me crazy when they walk pass my door. He protects me, my shiny knight, donned in blue armor. And I love him.
“Blaue, why am I here?” I ask him. We talk about this a lot, but he always just gives a small sad smile that seems to dim the bright blue of his eyes.
“Cain… your parents are coming.” He says from somewhere above me, we are sitting on the floor, me tucked safely between his legs, his chin on my head.
“Really? They have not visited in a while, four months?” I turn to look at him and I smile, his disheveled hair sticking out in weird directions.
He gives me a peck on the cheek as he reaches for my clothes and pulls them over my head. I never did like the white uniform that they have in my prison. He runs his hand through my hair, trying to straighten my messy hair as I pull my pants up. I pat his hair back into place as well, my sleeve slipping downwards, exposing the scars on my wrist which he brings to his lips for a kiss.
He pushes me onto the floor again, his lips traveling upon my ivory skin. And I start breathing heavily, anticipating the ritual that was to follow. We were to become one. I repeat Blaue’s name over and over.
“Blaue… Blaue, Blaue”
I would never be sick of saying his name.
The distant sound of keys clanging stops us in our tracks. Looking up, I see my mother, and in her arms lain an innocent. A baby, his face a shade of pink, his button nose running, and out from his small mouth comes a treacherous scream.
My mom stood stationary, tears staining her perfect face of beauty. And she whispers, again and again. And somehow her whisper seemed so much louder than the baby’s screaming.
“Cain… not again, not again.”
I scrabble from under Blaue walk towards my mother. She has started to shake her head, her blond curls bouncing.
“Mother?”
And she screams, words tumbling over each other, out of her mouth, from her heart.
“Blaue's not there Cain! He’s not there!” she kneels on the floor as my father comes to stand behind her, at the doorway of my cell.
“He’s been dead for so long! Cain stop this!” She stands and starts pulling at my long blond hair, my father trying to pry her away from me.
“I don’t understand any of this! Blaue is right there! Can't you see him?! He is right there!” I motion to where Blaue is standing, His eyes dark, sad.
“He is not there son.” My father spoke up, his arms around my mother’s waist, supporting her crumbling form.
The baby’s cries are ringing in my head, and I’m not getting anything.
“Stop lying to yourself, wake up Cain!” my mother sobs.
I grab my head and look between my mother and Blaue. I look to the ocean, the sky and I cry. Holding my aching head, I cry as my rose disappears. He was not there. He is gone. He is dead.
Dead.
All this time, I was talking to myself, the words reaching no one but myself, laughing in an empty room, the words echoing within the four walls. It was just me. Always.
Blaue was not there. He didn’t exist now. He’s gone.
The images kept floating in my head. All the time in here, this captive prison, he never visited me once. All those times… all the times he pushed me down, when we where one, were nothing. My own hands pleasuring myself, and my mind making it all up. This is a mental institution, all those times when I asked, “why am I here”, were for this very reason. For the non-existent Blaue, that I had loved so much.
He was gone, my Blaue was dead.
It was that night. After the heat of our performance, with the fading adrenaline in our veins, he cornered me. And confessed that all this time he had loved me, and despite all the love that I held for him, despite the crumbling gender barrier, I turned him down.
I didn’t want to tame him. I didn’t want to take away his freedom, my blue sky that I have lived for. He killed himself for that.
Eleutheromania, the craze for freedom.
Schizophrenia. That is what I was diagnosed with, I remember now. I couldn’t accept his death, to lose my blue rose, my untamable sky. Attempting suicide myself, slitting open my wrist. I was not able to die, to join my sky. But yet there he was in the morning, beside the hospital bed.
I loved Blaue. He would always be there for me.
I cry, the tears just wouldn’t stop, and my fingers digging into the past wound on my wrist. I scream, feeling uncontrollable sadness overwhelming me, and images just keep appearing in my head. All the times that he was not there, and from the corner of my eye I see people rushing towards me with syringes at the ready.
And everything was black.
“Good morning.” I open my eyes, and looked at the brightest and vastest smile that I ever laid eyes upon, blue eyes looking back, I was drowning.
“Hello, Blaue” I smile back, he’s here to visit me.
And without notice, my parents start sobbing quietly. Lifting a questioning brow, I turn to Blaue who smiles back at me. I grinned at the sight
My blue rose, my Blaue.
My blue.
