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Truth Beauty Freedom and above all Love

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Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and above all, Love
by Xandria
xandria1969@yahoo.com.au

 

He found them.

One year ago I met him for the first time when my Argentinian friend crashed through our floor, his roof, into his room.

And for the first time I saw those wide blue grey eyes, that clear pale skin, that seal sleek hair. That innocence. He was beautiful. And totally bewildered as we all crashed in upon him, shanghaied him to rehearse with us and before he knew it, drunk.

Absinthe. His first taste, my hundredth or second hundredth. I was certainly more used to it. He had helped us find the words and we needed him to sell the story to Satine, and through her to Zidler.

So he was dressed up and taken to the Moulin Rouge.

The Moulin Rouge had women, wine and song. And I was a favourite there.

Many of the dancers were also models, and I had put them in my paintings. I don't care what the art world says. Controversial? I was painting life. I was painting the ideal, we were the children of the new revolution, to come. It was 1899 and we celebrated like it was the end of the world.

And then Christian arrived. Another young writer, starry eyed, full of ideals. Beautiful.

And he fell in love. With her. Satine.

Satine, who wanted to fly away, to be a real actress. Satine, the courtesan. Satine, who broke the rules and fell in love. Satine, who was dying but didn't know.

I couldn't understand why I felt miserable. I was in a new play, it would be a big success, and it was wonderful.

But he was with her. I felt happy and sad all at once.
Happy because he was, sad because it wasn't me.

Don't get me wrong, I loved Satine, like I love all the dancers, but Christian.

Christian. I saw him first.

When they broke up, she said it was because the Duke could give her more. Christian broke down, we brought him in, we made him comfortable. And even though it hurt, I told him, she didn't mean it. That that wasn't like Satine. And he threw me out then. That hurt more than anything else. He was mad with grief, with love.
 
But it wasn't like Satine, she did love him, I know it. And then I found out the real reason she rejected Christian. Not for money. For love.

And at the opening night of Spectacular Spectacular I said the words that brought them back together. For those few minutes until Satine died in Christian's arms.

And I'm not sure yet whether I'm happy or sad about that either.

Because those words I yelled, I cannot admit myself. I love him.

And though he is my friend, and cares for me too, it is not in that way.

 

 

Xandria