Current mood:

indescribable

I've Been Here Before

He believes that I should understand. Part of me does and though I watch him descend onto that lonely path of self-destruction my heart is always with him. I see patterns within patterns and he’s come full circle. We are back at the theatre and he is completely mad with a rage that boils over like a dark oily brew. I see him in an utter state; bow in hand, while he tears at the strings of the tightly wound instrument of his choosing. A bull that’s finally skewered the Matador, and the real victory is in -his- death. His eyes blaze with a light that steals all breath from you and does he actually see you looking back? Does he notice us in shock as he rips through the notes with perfect precision and rhythm? Not a phrase out of tune, yet we were dizzy with the speed and watch as smoke rises like a jinni that threatens to bust the very thing that he loves most, into flames.

No. There is only one that he will see when he plays like the demon that dines on his soul. Only one he focuses his fury upon. There were no crowds of admirers calling out this name as he grit his teeth while I and the others watched in dismay. There were no fan fair and fancy lights, only the inner gleam of his hate as I watched his lips move silently, sounding out his name in a mute savage chant.

Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat......