Telling Roxane the Truth

I grow weary, so very weary. My sight blurs at each attempt I make to focus, and my mind is slowing down. Roxane is coming to visit me today, and it pains me greatly that she will have to see me like this. Since this morning when the accident happened, I’ve been thinking about Roxane, and about why I never told her. I never admitted my love for her, and remorse has begun to envelop me like a quilt drawn up too tightly around my neck on the hottest of nights. I must tell her. I simply must. But how will I do it? Will she be angered by my dishonesty? Should I even venture to call it dishonesty? After all, she never inquired as to if I loved her.  So, I guess I have given no falsehood. But still, I feel as if she may be angry with me for not rescuing her from her sorrow and mourning over Christian’s death.

            The clock strikes the hour! I must be off to see Roxane, and tell her the truth. I pray that my state does not deter her, and that my words are lovingly honest, and clearer than the brightest of oceans. I love her, and I am desperately hoping that the feeling is reciprocated.

Avis de Décès

Cyrano de Bergerac

Age 36

Born: 1619, Paris, France

Deceased: 1655, Sannois, France

“On n'aime que ce qu'on ne possède pas tout entier.”

-Marcel Proust

This past week, on the twenty sixth of July, a brilliant man was taken from this world. Cyrano de Bergerac, a poet, a soldier and a man of great wit passed away from complications of a blow to the head from a lackey. Cyrano was a man of honor, who refused money and assistance in his final few weeks so as to not cause trouble for those offering aid. In his earlier years, he served in the guard alongside many notable Gascons. As his final breath left him he passed away with an ultimate utterance of, “My white plume.” His exceptional way with words will never be forgotten.