The Colossus of Le Musain
I would say it if they would listen. The others are talking at Enjolras again. Apparently Bahorel has a mistress with a very pretty sister, and she likes blonds. Monsieur Enjolras, need I explain, is not amused. They think it is just another symptom of his inhumanity, and press him further until his cheeks burn red and he leaves the cafe. Nothing should be able to affect him like that, not here. This should be his temple. If they understood, it would be. But he will not explain to them, and I would not betray his confidence to explain on his behalf.
He is not alone because he is inhuman. He is alone because focussing too closely on one other person would betray the rest of the race, and he is far too responsible to allow that occur. He is lonely. Loneliness is simply not important enough to make him compromise his morals.
He is more than they are. He is strong enough to do what he believes despite his emotions and petty desires. They do not see; they cannot see; they would not want to see. Let them imagine that he is flawed. Let them pretend that he does not want what they have. He wants it, mes amis, but he does not dare to seek it. He is too committed to what he wants more. We can all wish we had that level of control of body by mind.
* * * * * * *
Did I say that out loud? He left, whether or not I said it, and they're not chasing him down. I suppose that's a small mercy. They shouldn't chase him, Lord knows. They shouldn't press him like they do. Don't they understand? If he wanted what they want, he could have it in a heartbeat, but he's above that. I bet he's thought about it, but that's not what matters, damn what the priests say. What matters is what you're doing, who you're kissing, what you're drinking. He's working to remake the world in his image. It takes so much time that he gives the other two a miss. Who can blame him?
Don't drive him away, boys. He's trying to help you, and your mothers, and your sisters, and everyone. Sure, you'd like to see him happy, he's your friend. Making him into you isn't going to make him happy, I promise you that, or he'd be you already. It's easy to be you. You're young and rich and promiscuous and a lot of you drink too much, not that I'm one to talk on that score. You know, if you don't poke at him, he'll stay.
I like it when he's here. He knows exactly what he wants from life. It's refreshing to see that. It helps hide the fact that I don't want anything in particular. That's why I'm with you, boys. You want good things, but you don't know what they're called, and you don't know how to find them. He wants great things. He has their names. He knows how to get from here to there.
Follow him. Let him stay above you. He's comfortable there. Don't pull him down to your level so you can feel connected to him. He's up there, he's smart, he's powerful. He's fundamentally like you, but nothing at all similar to you in practice. He talks, he plans revolutions, and he tries to organize the lot of you into something useful.
Best of all, he gives you something to watch. Do you know why you watch? You want to be something of what he is.
Not that I don't. I want it more than you do, boys, but I'm farther away than you are, so I watch and wish while you emulate. Don't try to make him emulate you. If I wanted to be you, I'd be you. I'd rather dream about being him, merci beaucoup.