The Persistence of Memory
[2] Istvan wears black, as if heās always in mourning. But Erik thinks of him in shades of red (scarlet crimson vermillion and carmine). To him Istvan is life itself, and life itself is the color of sweet wine, ruddy cheeks in winter, coals glowing warm, fresh bruises from a spar, poppies in the fields, blood to be kissed from a wound.
Istvan believes in nothing past the grave; he swears the saints cut him off a long time ago. He drinks and laughs and shows Erik that to be alive is the only thing worth his worship. When they make love they are two kindred flames, dancing together in the night. When they fight together it is Istvanās shadow behind him that keeps him safe.
Istvan wears gold, and the brocade filigree he adorns himself with reminds Erik of the sun when it nudges its lip over the horizon, how the golden lashes outline everything still subsumed in darkness. There is something more achingly beautiful in this contrast of light on dark than anything he has witnessed at high noon. The quiet calm on the cusp of dawn is the only time Erik feels at ease in his flesh. It was on some same morning that they first met, when Istvan stepped through the smoke in a flash of glimmering gold, illuminated in the glow of flames. ~
Gonna start posting this Isterik thing in little pieces... still not sure of the full scale or shape of it yet but it basically looks like this: fragments of memory bubbling to the surface in the wake of Istvan's death. Some come in tiny pieces, some in larger arcs. Tentatively titling this 'The Persistence of Memory' and yes I know how pretentious that sounds, lol, don't @ me. Actually do @ me if you want a way of keeping track of them. I could make a master post ppl could subscribe to maybe? Idk how tumblr works. OK I have a masterpost for this now: [The Persistence of Memory]
















