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Jun. 9th, 2013
When I Was A Little Girl
Jun. 9th, 2013 10:48 amI had an imaginary friend. He visited me twice in childhood, speaking to me through a fireplace and then rescuing me from a creature that seemed to emerge from my nightmares. After that day, I would dream of him at night, when I was bored at my studies, or in the free moments that I would play in the gardens with my brother. I pictured him a separate entity from the duty and ambition I was instilled with. Every day, I was reminded that some day I would be an uncrowned queen and the lover to a great man. In my mind, I kept the two men very distinct. I would be a mistress to the king, but my heart could only truly belong to one man, a man who was not even real.
All I knew of love, it was imagined with his face before me. His eyes determined and brave, darting through the darkness to pull away the monsters and guide me to safety. I trusted him without even knowing his name or background. He was mine and I was his, all without ever declaring my feelings for him.
Yet he was not real. I knew that then despite my fantasies and illusions.
One day, my imaginary friend returned, still the same age and more handsome than my girlhood memories had lead me to believe. He stood before my fireplace, seeming to emerge from it once more. He viewed my room with an appraising eye, as though he were its true owner. The possessor of such confidence and strength. He was more than a King, more than a mere man. He was my ideal. And I loved him, without saying a word. I knew in my heart that I loved him more fiercely than I loved my ambition. He was my dream, my goal.
I kissed him. It was not my place to do so, yet I did it. I do not regret that action nor shall I ever. I did not know whether or not I would see him again. I did not know even if he was real. I was to be married and given to a King that I had never seen. My hopes of my fireplace man were fading with every passing moment of reality and reason, though he warned me never to do so. I kissed him. For a single second, I was not the future Madame d’Etoilles nor even Madame de Pompadour. I was Reinette. I was a young woman at the cusp of her life, so young, so beautiful, and so full of dreams. In that instant, I gave myself to desire and love, I pressed my lips against his and allowed every ounce of my emotion to pour through into him. If only so that he may always remember that even though I could not be his, in that kiss, I was. In that kiss, he possessed me completely.
I fled, joining my mother before we could be discovered. I was flushed, excited and giddy. My mother assumed it was nerves, my guardian believed me to be playing some game to coquette his son, which is what he desired in the end, but my brother… only he could see from my expression that something had changed within me. It was as though I was ushered from childhood into adulthood from one simple conversation.
When I was a young woman at Versailles, I had a lonely angel to look after me. As nightmares seized me and terrors stalked me, he would rush to my aid, appearing from behind tapestries and mirrors. It was as though he were always watching me, a thought that both thrilled me and terrified me.
He stepped into the depths of my mind, searching for the reason to our constant meetings, the monsters his purpose. I knew the truth. It was destiny. All of my girlish fantasies came to life before him. For one evening, he was genuinely mine. I gave myself to that joy. I laid my secrets bare, I had no shame. Everything that was me, I offered up to him. My exploits, my desires, even my dreams of him. They were his to see. In return, I viewed his own. The faces of those he loved and lost. The forms he had come in. The planet he had come from. I saw it all and I understood then that he was like me. He was lonely and forced to play a role for the benefit of those around him. He had to play their savior because no one else could.
We were alike, my lonely angel and I. There would be no other opportunity. I took his hand and lead him off to dance. One full night, he was mine completely. There were no secrets between us, no falsehoods. There was honesty and sweetness. There was love and joy. If only the slow path could have been slower in that one instant.
But dreams must give way to reality. I waited for him to return again. My age dogged my steps. The beauty I once was began to fade. I grew older, more harder in spirit and more disillusioned with dreams. When his companion found me, I realized that to find the Doctor, I must embrace the world that he surrounded himself with. I must accept my terrors, for they were his harbingers. It was a fate I accepted gladly. He was my last true fantasy, my lingering hope. I would wait for him, no matter the time and no matter the distance.
Stepping into his world, following his companions onto the ship that lead into my own, it was frightening. I realized then that whatever wish I had of following him, being with him as I once was, it was for naught. There was no place for me on that ship. I was a foolish woman seeking something beyond herself. For once, I reached too high. It was one matter to climb beyond my station, but beyond my world? It was impossible.
When I was an aging mistress, I had a white knight burst through a mirror to rescue me from my childhood monsters. I was not afraid, nor did I ever doubt he would come. Hope is the refuge of the dying and I was dying then, though I had two years before my time would come. Loss had haunted my steps for some time. The children I could not give Louis, the rivals that would appear in his bed, the threats from the country that hated me. I was so weary and longed for that one face, the face that would chase away the tormenting thoughts of the sick, of the defeated.
It was our last meeting in my world and I knew it could never last. He stranded himself in my time. For me, he left his companions and left his beloved ship behind. Had I been a younger woman, I would have believed it was destiny. It was God’s gift to allow me the man I always dreamed of. To grant me the chance to live out my days with him, to love him as I always wished to. Yet I was not a younger woman, full of fantasies and wishes. I was wiser and so much colder of heart. I was used to denying myself the pleasures that surrounded me, seeing the truth and cruelty of life.
He was never mine to keep. He would never be content on the slow path, however much I wished to delude myself. I could not be so heartless as to deny him the world that he preferred and the ship he loved, perhaps more than he could ever love a woman. I let him go and showed him the door that would take him from my life, perhaps for the last time.
He asked me to wish him luck. I had none to give, only sorrow that would be my bedfellow until my path came to an end. Did he pity me in that instant? Did he truly wish to keep me beside him? I cannot say. An offer was made to see my stars and a promise that he would return.
A promise that he could not keep.
I stood before my window for hours, the sun slowly peeking up over the sky. Every night, I waited by my fireplace, searching the flames for the face I adored. Every day, hope became fainter and a resigned heart grew stronger within me. Weeks passed, months passed. I knew he would not return in time. Despite my certainty, I allowed a small wish to stay in my heart, the piece that he always kept. It remained with me even while I was on my death bed, consumption filling my lungs and my body slowly rotting with illness.
When I was a dying woman, I wrote a letter to my childhood friend, my first and last love. In it, I remained strong and offered whatever sign of hope and courage he knew me to possess. It was my last gift to him, the last sign that he held me still, completely and for eternity.
Slowly, the fire would fade and my dreams would die. I would never know the reason he entered my life, but it was providence nonetheless. I loved him. I love him still. Even when the light is gone, that shall always remain.
All I knew of love, it was imagined with his face before me. His eyes determined and brave, darting through the darkness to pull away the monsters and guide me to safety. I trusted him without even knowing his name or background. He was mine and I was his, all without ever declaring my feelings for him.
Yet he was not real. I knew that then despite my fantasies and illusions.
One day, my imaginary friend returned, still the same age and more handsome than my girlhood memories had lead me to believe. He stood before my fireplace, seeming to emerge from it once more. He viewed my room with an appraising eye, as though he were its true owner. The possessor of such confidence and strength. He was more than a King, more than a mere man. He was my ideal. And I loved him, without saying a word. I knew in my heart that I loved him more fiercely than I loved my ambition. He was my dream, my goal.
I kissed him. It was not my place to do so, yet I did it. I do not regret that action nor shall I ever. I did not know whether or not I would see him again. I did not know even if he was real. I was to be married and given to a King that I had never seen. My hopes of my fireplace man were fading with every passing moment of reality and reason, though he warned me never to do so. I kissed him. For a single second, I was not the future Madame d’Etoilles nor even Madame de Pompadour. I was Reinette. I was a young woman at the cusp of her life, so young, so beautiful, and so full of dreams. In that instant, I gave myself to desire and love, I pressed my lips against his and allowed every ounce of my emotion to pour through into him. If only so that he may always remember that even though I could not be his, in that kiss, I was. In that kiss, he possessed me completely.
I fled, joining my mother before we could be discovered. I was flushed, excited and giddy. My mother assumed it was nerves, my guardian believed me to be playing some game to coquette his son, which is what he desired in the end, but my brother… only he could see from my expression that something had changed within me. It was as though I was ushered from childhood into adulthood from one simple conversation.
When I was a young woman at Versailles, I had a lonely angel to look after me. As nightmares seized me and terrors stalked me, he would rush to my aid, appearing from behind tapestries and mirrors. It was as though he were always watching me, a thought that both thrilled me and terrified me.
He stepped into the depths of my mind, searching for the reason to our constant meetings, the monsters his purpose. I knew the truth. It was destiny. All of my girlish fantasies came to life before him. For one evening, he was genuinely mine. I gave myself to that joy. I laid my secrets bare, I had no shame. Everything that was me, I offered up to him. My exploits, my desires, even my dreams of him. They were his to see. In return, I viewed his own. The faces of those he loved and lost. The forms he had come in. The planet he had come from. I saw it all and I understood then that he was like me. He was lonely and forced to play a role for the benefit of those around him. He had to play their savior because no one else could.
We were alike, my lonely angel and I. There would be no other opportunity. I took his hand and lead him off to dance. One full night, he was mine completely. There were no secrets between us, no falsehoods. There was honesty and sweetness. There was love and joy. If only the slow path could have been slower in that one instant.
But dreams must give way to reality. I waited for him to return again. My age dogged my steps. The beauty I once was began to fade. I grew older, more harder in spirit and more disillusioned with dreams. When his companion found me, I realized that to find the Doctor, I must embrace the world that he surrounded himself with. I must accept my terrors, for they were his harbingers. It was a fate I accepted gladly. He was my last true fantasy, my lingering hope. I would wait for him, no matter the time and no matter the distance.
Stepping into his world, following his companions onto the ship that lead into my own, it was frightening. I realized then that whatever wish I had of following him, being with him as I once was, it was for naught. There was no place for me on that ship. I was a foolish woman seeking something beyond herself. For once, I reached too high. It was one matter to climb beyond my station, but beyond my world? It was impossible.
When I was an aging mistress, I had a white knight burst through a mirror to rescue me from my childhood monsters. I was not afraid, nor did I ever doubt he would come. Hope is the refuge of the dying and I was dying then, though I had two years before my time would come. Loss had haunted my steps for some time. The children I could not give Louis, the rivals that would appear in his bed, the threats from the country that hated me. I was so weary and longed for that one face, the face that would chase away the tormenting thoughts of the sick, of the defeated.
It was our last meeting in my world and I knew it could never last. He stranded himself in my time. For me, he left his companions and left his beloved ship behind. Had I been a younger woman, I would have believed it was destiny. It was God’s gift to allow me the man I always dreamed of. To grant me the chance to live out my days with him, to love him as I always wished to. Yet I was not a younger woman, full of fantasies and wishes. I was wiser and so much colder of heart. I was used to denying myself the pleasures that surrounded me, seeing the truth and cruelty of life.
He was never mine to keep. He would never be content on the slow path, however much I wished to delude myself. I could not be so heartless as to deny him the world that he preferred and the ship he loved, perhaps more than he could ever love a woman. I let him go and showed him the door that would take him from my life, perhaps for the last time.
He asked me to wish him luck. I had none to give, only sorrow that would be my bedfellow until my path came to an end. Did he pity me in that instant? Did he truly wish to keep me beside him? I cannot say. An offer was made to see my stars and a promise that he would return.
A promise that he could not keep.
I stood before my window for hours, the sun slowly peeking up over the sky. Every night, I waited by my fireplace, searching the flames for the face I adored. Every day, hope became fainter and a resigned heart grew stronger within me. Weeks passed, months passed. I knew he would not return in time. Despite my certainty, I allowed a small wish to stay in my heart, the piece that he always kept. It remained with me even while I was on my death bed, consumption filling my lungs and my body slowly rotting with illness.
When I was a dying woman, I wrote a letter to my childhood friend, my first and last love. In it, I remained strong and offered whatever sign of hope and courage he knew me to possess. It was my last gift to him, the last sign that he held me still, completely and for eternity.
Slowly, the fire would fade and my dreams would die. I would never know the reason he entered my life, but it was providence nonetheless. I loved him. I love him still. Even when the light is gone, that shall always remain.