Bittersweet
By: PoeticChick
What is my role
at the Moulin Rouge? Entertainer? Protector of what little virtue the diamond
dogs have left? Satine’s unofficial bodyguard? All of the above? I don’t know –
lately, it seems that I don’t know anything anymore.
I have a secret, something I have never shared with
anyone in the entire world. My secret is both shameful and painful – it causes
me shame and pain every day, and yet I cannot do anything about it. I know I
will never be freed from these emotional chains until I share it with someone,
a very certain someone, but I know that is impossible.
I am in love. I am in love with Satine. I have
never uttered these words aloud except late at night when I’m lying alone in
bed and everything is dark and I can feel the weight of my secret pressing down
on my chest like a block of steel. I cannot breathe until I whisper into my
pillow, “I love you, Satine!” and the weight goes away. But it always comes
back. It comes back when I see her in the morning, her face freshly scrubbed
and glowing, her hair falling out of the quick buns she pulled it into before
she went to sleep. It comes back when I see her with Christian, see how radiant
she is in his company, how she simply exudes happiness that is brighter than
the ray of the brightest sun.
I am not usually a sentimental person, but thoughts
like these have been running through my head since I admitted to myself that I
love Satine. I compare her to everything beautiful – a rose, a butterfly, a
dove, a diamond. I have come to realize something, though – my love for Satine
is bittersweet, like chocolate, my namesake. I love her with every atom of my
body, but I know at the same time that my feelings will never be returned, no
matter what I do. I tell myself that my feelings for her are something that no
man has ever felt for her, for I know that inside that curvaceous, willowy body
is a heart of gold. I tell myself that what she has with Christian is nothing,
is simply a fling that will pass quicker than a whisper on a windy afternoon.
But I know, in my heart of hearts, that she is truly happy with Christian, and
as much as it hurts me, I want her to be happy, even if that means I cannot have
her, can never tell her that I love her. That is why I know that the love I
feel for Satine is real: I want her to be happy, even if it means that I am not.