A reflection about Grantaire and why he drinks. Sorry if it is impossible to read as I have only written inenglish once, if it is possible I'm happy, if it is good I'm shocked
Hope you enjoy!
Why did he use to drink?
Grantaire could not go a minute through without a wine in hand, and in lack of wine, woman.
Therefore, he was considered by all as an escapist, a cynic. He did not believe in anything. But that meant he never did?
With the bottle in hand, he heard all their friends talking. Talking about the future, about the past, about the progress. They had many ideas and mixed them all, but still were able to articulate them. Meanwhile, he denied that such a future would come, that such progress would be finally made.
But his original problem was not believing in nothing.
Grantaire was thinking. He took the bottle to his lips and took a sip. The effect, as learned through the experience, was almost immediate. The wine was going to their brain, and it calmed the thoughts. It raised a smoke curtain between his brain and reality.
A sudden talk took him out of that state. He listened. After a few minutes, again isolated. There was a time he thought he would be like them. But he always went further.
He had so many ideas in the mind, reflected on so many things ... and not only on progress, but about something much greater- on humans. On life, on death. On the past and on the future. About women, about men. Love, literature, thought; belief, cynicism, reason. With all that in his head, how could He bear it all at once?
He saw his friends and did not see. Long ago he had given up believing in nothing since, hard to believe, to think, he realized what a waste of time it was. It? Life.
Enjolras' voice pulled him out from his reverie. He was the only one Grantaire really admired.
While the others only were students with their ideas, Enjolras was much more. He was what Grantaire once was; it's just that Enjolras, in some way, represented the triumph. Grantaire represented what he would have been if he had decided to lift a cloud between his genius and its object of reflection. Enjolras reflected as much as him, more than any other member of the abaisse.
He was the only friend who Grantaire saw, really saw. What a pity that Enjolras did not see him. Oh well, how would he realize that Grantaire was himself, but left to fail? How would light recognize itself in the dusk?
All these thoughts tormented Grantaire. They crashed on his head and hurt. How had he let himself drift that way? How did he become so cynical, having reflected for so long? How, despite his attempts, he could not help but think, talk, admire, reflect, contradict, ask himself? Why couldn't he just enjoy what it was living? Why couldn't he live without wonder what life really was?
Grantaire took a long drink. The smoke was reestablished, and calm returned.
Why did he could not stop drinking? Because it was all that, ironically, made him believe that it was possible to live.