“Our aborted history ends in the bitter sweetness of dusk.
If my ego is of course terribly bruised, I wish you the best.
I loved everything about you. “
How do you get rid of a love story? What is the little magic formula so preciously kept, so that the one who was everything is nothing?
A few months ago, I left a man.
Of my own free will, in a burst of pain, like a flight necessary for my own preservation.
However, I can’t get rid of its shadow.
Months later, when I have now forgiven why I left him, he still haunts my days.
I loved everything about him.
“You’d have to talk about it in the past, you’d have to stop thinking about it, you’d have to forget it all day long” sang Cabrel.
To forget it all day long, to remember the pains, to unlearn to love it.
Yet to do all of this is still to be in a relationship.
What is the opposite of love? Hatred? Of course not, it’s indifference. It is the momentum of the heart that dies out, it is no longer to tremble in the worst as in the best.
His presence touches me, lives in me. How to run away from this ghost?
I then oscillate between offering myself a moment of rest where my thoughts lead me towards these sweet memories where we were so good and the frantic action which leaves no room for the mind.
I feel like in rehabilitation. I relearn a daily newspaper where he is no longer an actor, but remains present, like a beautiful postcard in the landscape.
Because I don’t want to forget it.
Despite all the pain, despite all the anger, despite all the pain, our story has been a precious gift that I keep buried deep inside.
I just have to accept the ephemeral. Accept it as a sweet parenthesis: erase the worst and make up the best.
There are men in my life.
Reading these words, my friends would probably cry scandal. Remembering the suffering, the wounds, the pains.
But how can I deny it? I liked him.
Of course, tinged with Sthendalian crystallization, I dressed it with all the assets.
Freed from this grip, I should now take them away from him and replace them with all the faults in the world? Would he be really honest?
I loved everything about him.
I now strive to look at his portrait in a look devoid of love but full of tenderness. Remembering a happy experience that was offered to me, as at bedtime, we take stock of these errors with kindness.
