Just feel it right and it’s gonna be alright…

I started to watch The Mentalist again. The new season is back. Usually The Mentalist TV show is just something entertaining for me, I watch it after a long day of work, trying to relax, watching something not very complicated. I like the characters though the intrigues and stories are always quite simple. Yesterday was the first time that an episode touched me more particularly. Nothing fancy or really deep but I was in the mood for that after having posted a piece on the blog.

In the 7th season, for those who do not know, the two principal characters were finally together. Patrick Jane is IN LOVE. After seven years of watching this show, finally the male character is in love. It is very rare that on-screen two actors could have such a chemistry as Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon. More than a complicity, either they are very good actors or they are really in love off-screen. I was particularly touched by the way she looks at him. Strange, it gives me goosebumps each time.

In one episode, her ex (the one she left because of Jane) asked Jane something like: “Do you have a plan for her? I gave her a life, do you have something to offer her?”. Later on Jane told Lisbon about that, she asked him: “Yes, and do you have a plan for us” – He answered: “No. I think we know what feels right and I think that that should be our guide”

I have to admit, I have been girly and over-romantic ever since this sentence was pronounced. It seems simple but so right. Simply said and here I am, writing something about it.

I wish any woman could hear this from the man she loves.

What feels right should always be our guide.

The story of a suitcase

My flight arrived in the morning. Extremely tired as I could not sleep during the flight. I got out of the airport and took a cab home. It was another thick dark grey sky- day but I was glad to be home after three weeks away. The day before I arrived I wrote him a message, asking him to come and pick me up at the airport. He could not at the time I asked as he had to teach until 2pm that day. I live in a building with no elevator and my flat is on the second floor. My back and heels problems do not allow me to carry the big and heavy suitcase up to the apartment. I could have asked the taxi driver and tipped more but somehow I preferred asking him. He told me not to worry and to leave my luggage downstairs. He told me he would come later on in the afternoon and bring it up for me. He also suggested me to come to his workplace instead of going home from the airport. Anything is possible just to avoid me carrying the suitcase up to my flat; anything is possible just to avoid me walking up all the steps with the suitcase. For that he wrote mail after mail to make sure that I would not do it by myself and I would wait for him to come. I answered him to not worry and that the suitcase would wait for him in the hall of the building.

I arrived home, took a shower and especially tried hard to not fall asleep. I drank coffee then tea and refused to eat to avoid the process of digesting which could make me even more tired and sleepy. He would come by 3pm. I roughly calculated the time he got out of class and the time he would need to reach my apartment. At 1pm I put on my pajama and struggled against the fatigue. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked unhealthy. My eyes were dark. My skin was pale. My hair was a mess. I was even more tired as the afternoon went by. At 2pm I was almost in a dream, walking around my living room. I practiced harpsichord for ten minutes but my fingers could hardly move. At 2.30 I received a text from him. He said he arrived soon. At 2.40pm I decided cowardly to lie on my bed for a few minutes. Things not to do as I fell asleep in less than one second. He rang the bell at 3pm. He could use the spare key I gave him once, but no, he rang. I woke up, more than stoned. I opened the door. He was there with my suitcase. He smiled and said that he woke me up he was sure. He said that the suitcase was light but of course not for me. I let him in. I realized that I was still on pajama. I remembered my face in the mirror one hour before. Pale skin, no makeup, hair in a mess, tiny eyes behind an old pair of eyeglasses, the one I only use at home, in front of no one. I said something like I am ugly and in pajama. He answered with a smile and a sound “tttssssss”. I added – And I am fat from all the food in the US. He said – nope you are not. I asked him to make us some tea and went directly to the living room and lied down on the sofa. I am so tired and lazy, could you make a green tea for us please. I was a great host, of course. I talked to him from the sofa. He asked me how was my trip and if I was happy to see my family over there. He came back with a pot of tea. He sat down next to me. I told him everything about my trip. When I checked my watch for the first time it was 6pm. He was there for three hours and we just talked non-stop. I felt like we were building together a new world or we were belonging to another world than the one we are living in now. I told him I had nothing to cook and I was not hungry either and all I wanted was to hit my bed. The whole time I was with him I was just myself and looked like nothing else than myself in the morning, when I get out of the shower. The whole time he looked at me in his unique way of looking at me. He said he would leave me so that I could go to bed. The whole time he talked to me in his unique way of talking to me. I told him the next time I would cook for him and I would be more awake and attentive to the conversation. I said that the next time we meet I would talk more. He laughed, kissed me on the forehead. I accepted the kiss. I stood there, barefoot, in my sloppy pajama, looking at him putting on his jacket and his backpack. He kissed me again on the forehead and left.

I went to bed right after that. The next morning I woke up and got a text from him: “Hope you got a sound sleep. I like that you feel comfortable around me in your pink pajama (with a smiley)”, to which I answered: “Very comfortable but still very ugly”, to which he in turn answered with a big-laugh smiley.

The past

Happiness is an art. I have been looking for happiness for the last 14 months. The more I look, the less I find. I have chosen a wrong path and since then living happily has become utopic.

I have been in couple for 14 months and as far as I can remember I was happier alone. It is a sad thing to say and probably I can hear people around me protesting. I believe I am happier alone. Either it is a true fact and I am just made to be alone or either I have chosen a wrong partner and my life in couple is not what I have expected.

Either way I am far from reaching happiness or the nirvana. I don’t know if I don’t want to be in couple or if I have been in a wrong relationship which led me to think that I am a person who could totally be alone, and die alone (which is even more than a truth).

The first wrong decision was to believe in the past. I was with my first boyfriend for 8 years when I was 16. I left him and we have lost contact for 20 years almost. Part of this was because he was angry at me for leaving him. Then for some reason we got back together after all these years. I have always believed that my past with him and my love for him were the most beautiful thing I had and leaving him was a biggest mistake of my life. When the opportunity showed up and pushed us back together I did not hesitate a second. It was 14 months ago. I have made space for this relationship and put all my soul into it.

The past was far past and the present is pain. The pain is so huge that I have lost all my faith, all my energy on the way to find happiness. I used to be joyful and I LOVE LIFE. I am now reduced to someone most of the time sad and weak. I hang on to the past to understand the difficulties of the present. I have nothing to hang on to except the past. The past of a story when I was 16. Destiny sucks and one thing I have learned from this story is that people do not change. Twenty years after the separation I have found the same person. The reasons that made me leave him twenty years ago could be the same for today. Nothing has changed except we are older and we are even more difficult and less tolerant.

I have been thinking for months about how one decision could jeopardize a whole life. I could walk away for the second time but for some reason I could not. Instead I stay and get sick and am sad. Someone once told me to forget the past, rectify the present so that my future can be better. I think I can’t just accept the second failure with the same person. There were too many mistakes in this decision. The thought of this person was my soulmate. The thought that this love story when we was teen-age was the best story. Now I can only blame myself for believing in the past. I have put aside the present at that moment to honor the past.

My sentimental life seems to go from one mistake to another. If happiness is the result of good decisions in your love life, then I would have to surrender, I would never be happy. Ever again.

When I was back at the gym last week and waiting for this dear friend, I realized that I had no choice to avoid pain. Could I make this past with “him” present again and put the present of the other past behind ? When I came home last week after seeing my dear friend at the gym I got back to my blog. 14 months were put on hold to live the other past. Worse thing in all of this is that I don’t even know what the word “soulmate” means. The one I believe was my soulmate only makes me suffer and the one who was unable to give me more than a conceptual love understands me more than anyone else.

Which past to choose ?


The alarm of the clock on the wall was set to end each training session after five minutes. 9pm sharp he finished the training and came toward me. I was sitting at the reception area. He touched me from behind the neck and asked if I would like something to drink. He said that the coffee here was good and strong. I said: No thanks. Wait for me I will go shower, he added.

Before he left for the shower he introduced me to the owner of the gym and his partner, then some of his sparring partners. When he came back he asked me if I wanted to visit the gym. I said yes. He told me that he liked the color of the wall, a kind of old pink color. He said he came here every evening, mostly because he is the principal coach but also because this place is his second home.

We left the gym and waited for the bus to come. The night was bright as it was full moon. It was not cold at all for a month of October. We went downtown for a drink. He did not talk a lot this time. Normally when we met each other he seemed happier. He told me not to worry as he was not in good shape. I told him that it was okay, we don’t need to talk a lot. For some reason I did not feel the need to talk a lot either. We had each of us a green tea. We looked at each other in silence. But there was no embarrassment in the silence. For the first time since we have known I asked first if we could leave. The idea of seeing him with a sad face made me even sadder than him. It was 11.30 pm. The last bus would be only in one hour. Usually we stayed until there was no more buses passing by. He said ok and held my hands for less than thirty seconds. We walked slowly to a square where all the buses stop. My bus arrived first. I kissed him very quickly on the cheek and entered the bus. He waved at me and sent me a kiss. I smiled at him and waved back.

Later in the night he wrote to me a private message on Facebook: “I am sorry. Bad mood lately. Always a pleasure to see you…”

I answered him early in the morning: “Don’t be sorry. It was nice seeing you though I never like to see you down…”

Then I opened my blog and wrote again after one year and four months of absence. About him. My inspiration.

Later on during the day I wrote him a long letter. I did not say in the letter how much I still love him. Just how much I care.

Later on that night he sent me a good-night song just like he did every night since one year and four months.

Waiting at the gym

The bus 31 took me to his gym. I have never taken the bus 31 to go to this side of the city. Eleven stops from the station. He was waiting for me at 9pm. I arrived in front of the gym at 8.10pm. There was nothing around this area except one small Migrolino – the equivalent of a 7 Eleven in the US. There were only buildings for offices with no light inside. And above the main street where his gym is located you can see a bridge illuminated in the night. I have never been to this part of the city. I was way too early so I went to buy a small coffee at the Migrolino shop. I bought a take-away Starbucks coffee whose taste was disgusting. I crossed the street and found myself in front of the gym. No one in front. No one inside of the hall. I saw the name of the gym on the first door on the left. 8.20 pm. I entered the gym and said to a man sitting at the reception desk: I am a friend of S. He answered: Oh yes please come in, he is just there.

I took off my shoes and entered the room, sitting on a sofa, facing the training area. Here he was. On the floor with a sparring partner. He waved at me and smiled and got back to a jiujit-su position. I have not seen him for three months. And most importantly, I have not written about him for more than a year. Suddenly I felt a big wave of confused feelings all over me. I was happy to see him again. After all, he is my dear friend. I was scared to feel something more than a friendship again. And what I was afraid to face was very real at the moment I saw him on the mat. I was not indifferent. Something did happen inside of me. But I tried to avoid to put a name on it.

Here he was. The man with the eyes which carry the whole humanity like I have always thought. I could see those eyes from far. I opened a book on the table and browsed it slowly. I tried to avoid to look at him train. I have never seen him train. For all those years I had no occasion to come and see him train at the gym although he had asked me more than once.

Three months ago we had dinner at my place. With his parents. When the parents left, he told them he would stay and help me clean the kitchen. We washed the dishes together. When we finished he grabbed me and kissed me. The kiss lasted forever. I kissed him back. My kiss lasted more than forever. We were friends. We had stopping being lovers for a while already. Then the kiss in the kitchen. A kiss which is not sexual. He did not stay. Though he could. I could invite him to stay though. The kiss was the one of regrets, of affection or love, the kind of love which carries the universe, which gives you the world. His kiss was that kind of kiss. And that kind of friendship.

I was still sitting on the sofa, watching him train, remembering his kiss in my kitchen. 8.46 pm. In less than ten minutes he would finish the training and would come towards me and his hand would touch my neck as a sign of greeting me.

And this is the way our friendship goes now after having been everything together. I would say hi to him and catch furtively one of his fingers.

It is always here


No matter how far I travel

No matter how many strangers I have  met

This is here my home

It is always here

As it is always you

The beauty elsewhere

The excitement elsewhere

The novelty elsewhere

My distraction could be a second even a minute

It is always here

And it is always you

In the end


What do you see ?


Your eyes are mystery

In half words

In half smiles

I wish I could understand you more

Before we said goodbye

We suspended time

We froze time

For another time

In your eyes

In colors

In black or white

What is the color of your soul?

Your eyes are imagination

Enough to drive me crazy


The Great Gatsby or something else ?


“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced–or seemed to face–the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.” (The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald)

It is difficult not to like the new “The Great Gatsby” movie, simply because the text written by Fitzgerald was so beautiful. I read the book at high-school. I remember I did not understand the whole meaning of it. I was seventeen. I remember having an oral exam on the book and had to talk about Daisy. Last night when I saw the movie I realized that by the time I did not even realize that Gatsby was that much in love with Daisy. I did not remember at all the pain and love of Gatsby in the 1974 movie with Redford and Farrow. But this time it hit me so strong. Maybe because I am in love and I can now fully understand the kind of love and obsession Gatsby had for Daisy. For a moment I felt a bit uncomfortable during the movie. I was irritated because I was with a friend and when the movie ended I just wanted to be by myself and stay in silence but he kept asking me my opinions about the movie. I found the movie beautiful because each word written by Fitzgerald made sense to me. More by now than when I was seventeen. I finally understood Gatsby and the book. I felt pain because Gatsby’s dream pursuit was so absolute and impossible. It was unbearable to see such unique belief in love, in dreams, in conquests. I was touched and that was probably why I liked this new version of The Great Gatsby. I found it explicit, exuberant and extremely modern. Showing love in that way is attractive to me. But at night I had an very agitated sleep.

This morning I decided to go for a walk in the park to get for my mind some fresh air. The movie of yesterday evening still got into me. I walked through the park and took only pictures of the flowers. It was raining and cold for the month of May. But the colors of the flowers were absolutely perfect. In spite of  the grey sky the flowers still looked magical. It was strange. My eyes and my body were not in harmony because I got cold after a while but my eyes were completely satisfied with what I saw. It went on like that, this strange feeling during the whole time I was walking through the park. It made me think of my love for him. It is not always in harmony with what I think, with my brain but it does not matter. Sometimes my body feels pain of missing him, but my heart is so blessed that it does not matter. It was like the cold my body felt in the park. The imperfection of the moment. Yet the eyes were still captivated by the beauty of the flowers. My love for him is like the flowers in the park under the cold rain. A perfection remains in harmony with the imperfection of the situation. photo-152


Then my mind wandered back to the movie. I felt like Gatsby. Full of hopes and dreams and illusions. Innocence. Purity. Was it because of the movie? Or the book? Or the nature? Or the flowers? Or the love for him ? Or simply a bit of all of it together? I did not know the answer, yet it felt good that way.


Flow and waves

“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven’t loved enough.” (The Forty Rules of Love – Elif Sharaf)

To the people who say that I am obsessed about you, I answered I am indeed.

To the people who say that I might scare you away with my love, I answered I might indeed.

To the people who say that you are probably used to my love by now, I answered you probably are indeed.

I love you enough to bear any thoughts about us.

Loving you is like running toward the ocean, seeing the waves and throwing myself in them, letting the waves caressing my body over and over again, with no resistance.

Loving you is not only like living the flow of our story, but being the whole time the flow itself, inventing the story, inventing us, holding us in my hands, yet with no control.

But that is the difficult part to explain so I let the people think whatever they think about us. Somehow I had become the flow and the waves, taking everything about us with me. And this a long time ago.

I see you


You know how much I like you?

When I am with other men, talking, laughing, socializing, I can see you in their eyes, in the curves of their eyebrows. I can see you looking at me and smiling to me. When they laugh, I see you.

When I walk down the street, I see an old man on a bench, eyes in the sky, I see you. I see a mother with a stroller, I see you. I see a kid with an ice cream, I see you. I see myself rubbing it to your face and licking the ice cream melting on your broken nose.

When people wish me luck to find a new man, I see you. I see myself answering them: “I had found this guy”.

You know how much I like you?

I like you as much as I can see you everywhere I go. My eyes have no other vision than you. And someday when you will disappear, I will fall into the dark of blindness. Till then, I let you be my vision, my universe, my infinity.


Behind that door

“Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. An ordinary statement, to be sure, but not an ordinary fact, for so few of us learn that love is tenderness, and tenderness is not, as a fair proportian suspect, pity; and still fewer know that happiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another: one has always to love a good many things which the beloved must come only to symbolize; the true beloveds of this world are in their lovers’s eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child’s Sunday, lost voices, one’s favourite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.” (Other Voices, Other Rooms – Truman Capote)

These last days I could not formulate a single word about us. I felt so comfortable, so quiet that it was impossible to express myself. Something has changed. The feeling that we are unbreakable. There are two kinds of love in this world. The one you live with the conviction that an end is waiting for you. No matter how hard you have tried to sweeten it, you can still see the end of the tunnel, with no light beyond. Then there is a kind of love that just goes on and on. You don’t need to do anything about that. It is just like an unlocked door. You just need to push it and you are on the other side. And on the other side, there is light, there is the fresh air, there is the flowers’ incense.

These last days I walked through that door. My eyes were not dazzled. My heartbeats were regular. My ears did not buzz. My sleeps were not agitated. The sun was always there in me. The warmth envelopped me. My heart was quiet. It did not shout. It did not cry. I have recognized once again true love without having him on the other side of the door. He is just in me. Breathing him like an evidence. Breathing my life without suspecting that one day something wrong could happen to us. The butterflies in my stomach have gone. The dizziness has gone. The place where my heart lives in is empty because true love does not need a place to contain it. True love is just everywhere in me and outside. Behind that door that I’d pushed to finally reach him and to accept us as we are.

I finally belong to where we are. I don’t give him my love. I don’t take it back. It is there. Like the sun right now when I look outside of the window. There are days with and there are days without. I stopped searching for the sun. I stopped looking for the beauty of love. Everything is intrinsic. Like the sun right now. Even behind my sunglasses it still frees the same powerful longlasting glare. True love has this effect. You don’t get burned. You don’t get blind. You get better. Day by day.

I am back and not cured from love

I am back and not cured from love.

Worse than ever. No, better than ever. Love is all over me. In my head. In my heart.

Things are simple but I did not always get it.

When a story is not finished, it is simply not finished. You don’t fight love. You cannot fight love. It’s something you just feel and have to accept.

You don’t “unlove” when you decide to “unlove”. There is no cure for love.

I wanted to close the blog. I wanted not to talk about love anymore. I wanted to let him go. There is nothing to do. I just can’t.

Everything will always be about him until it will naturally stops. How could I not understand it earlier? I spent the last two weeks, trying to be rational. The more I tried, the more I suffered. It was only when I surrendered my love that I was fine again.

He understood this before me. He could not let me go. We accepted our curse. Maybe one day. Maybe never. I look at the world. It is way better with him in my mind.

My only way to live and to find peace is to love him. Moving on is not a solution. Maybe one day this love will die. For now it is lively, it makes me breathe. I just have to accept it.

The end of the blog

Today I will say goodbye to you. For a while. I hope I could be back for this blog. But I am not sure when and if I could ever come back.

I have been putting myself in this blog. Creating a world parellel to mine. The real one. Stories written were inspired by real and fictional characters, sometimes the posts were more real, sometimes the posts were more from my imagination.

The world of the blog, I have invented it with poetry, songs, and sounds from my heart. I have started the blog to canalize all my feelings for love. I have started the blog to pay tribute to love and the love stories I had lived or imagined. In the past. In the present.

I have loved a man since the day one of the blog. Parallel with the blog, my love and myself have grown up. Day after day. In his presence. In his absence. In our friendship. In something unique.

Today we decided to say goodbye. How many times in the past when I imagined our last day together I have always imagined myself in pain and sadness. Today is our last day together as a friend, as lovers. And I have felt nothing such as pain. I am more than ready.

This blog has helped me elevate this love to a sublime state and state of mind. I have beautified him and my love for him. I have beautified them every single day in the blog. Until today when I realized that I had done all the possible for this imaginary world between him and me and the blog. The outside world between him and me is not beautiful enough for me to keep on being inspired.

I could not continue as I don’t see myself writing about love in sadness, in bitterness. I could not continue as my hero is not anymore a hero to my eyes. Our story has become common. Drown in fear and insignificant feelings and exchanges. I am not inspired anymore. I feel only emptiness. Not pain.

I let the love go. I let everything go. The physical pain has not shown up yet. I am prepared. Ready. This blog has helped me in everything and I thank you all for reading me the whole year long.

I will be back the day I am cured. But ain’t there any cure for love?

Once again thank you for all the support. It was an exquisite world being in here with you. The blog has helped me more than anything else.

Lovers in all colors


Before yesterday

Lovers under the sun


Lovers under the wind


Lovers under the drizzle

Rainbow comes then disappear

Lovers in yellow

Lovers in blue

Lovers in white

Dancing waiting


Swirling in the change of seasons

She is one of them

Dancing waiting

Not wondering

She is the lover who holds the rainbow

Standing still and strong

Defying the whirlwind

Offering him serenity

In the color of his choice


Painting “Lovers in blue” by Marc Chagall

Ask her if she prefers…


Ask her if she prefers the warmth without him

Ask her if she prefers the sun without him

Ask her if she prefers summer 365 days a year without him

Ask her if she prefers the money, the luxury, diamonds and gold without him

The cold is warm with him

The rain is fun with him

The winter 365 days a year is easy to bear with him

With him life is simple

Appearances, superfluous values, materialistic dreams

Nothing counts, nothing matters

She shines with him in no diamonds and gold

With him she can live out of nothing

Like in the old days

When only love is enough

Like the French proverb:

“Living only out of love and fresh water”

Ask her if she prefers…

And the answer is already clear…

“I prefer nothing without him”

Sounds common

But that’s just it.


Painting “Lovers on the bench” of Marc Chagall (1911)

And the bus is here…


Most of the times you don’t like to miss the bus late in the night because the following one would come in at least 20 minutes. And when it is cold, and when it is raining, you just want to get home as quickly as possible as your day was already too long.

But sometimes the “most of the times” does not work. You just miss the bus. The next one is indeed in 20 minutes. But this time you don’t mind. Because he is there, waiting with you. It is cold. It is raining. You have never been that happy that you had missed the bus. You have never been that grateful that the wait was at least 20 minutes. You even wish for the bus to come later than scheduled. You would not mind at all. It is cold. It is raining.

You get soaked in his arms. Each kiss is wet of tenderness. He holds you tight. All the year long, you hate the rain, you hate the cold. Now the cold is your ally, the rain your best friend. You feel like a heroin in an old movie. You feel like you are in front of your hero. You feel his lips. Over and over again. The 20 minutes are the worthiest ones to live, the worthiest ones on the planet “Time”.

You feel like a kid. You feel like an adolescent falling in love for the first time. You feel like an accomplished woman knowing when it is true love. You want to say something. But there is no need to say anything. Your eyes mean any expression of love all together.

19 minutes. 18 minutes. 17 minutes.

Three seconds.  Two seconds. One second.

The bus is here. One last kiss. After how many kisses. 19 minutes. 60 seconds in a minute. One kiss a second. 1’140 kisses. Or something like that. The last kiss. You feel it like a deep cut.

You enter the bus. You wave at him. In the rain he waves back. He is magisterial. He is majestic. You turn your head. You cannot stand anymore this view of him. Your chest is exploding. You know this kind of romantism would kill you if you continue. You know that this kind of love is the best but also the worst. You touch your lips. A bit numb of his kisses. You smell your fingers embalmed with his perfume. You look outside. The rain is still there. You count the raindrops and find them infinitely smaller than the amount of love you feel for him. You look outside. You love your city. You love the night bus. And everything he has seen with you.

The connection


Beyond feelings, beyond love, she realizes that there is something even sweeter, more meaningful. It’s the connection, the link she has with people around her. People who are close to him first. People who are his loved ones. But there is more about that. It is not because of the love she feels for him. She does not come to them because of him.

The precious link like a thin invisible rope, yet strong, unique and magical which connects her to his loved ones. She has built with them a connection. Beyond him. And even if not with him. There is no such importance. His presence or absence in the connection is not to be considered. And even though she could not define the relationship she has with him. She can define the thing she has with his close ones. It’s all about connection. Far beyond him. Far beyond love. She appreciates seeing his loved ones and cares about them. Like her own family. She has adopted his loved ones. Not because of him. But she likes the way human beings care about each other, develop their relationship, strengthen the link, let grow the affection.

When she shares moments of her life with his family, she is glad to have met such nice persons. She has never thought that because they are his family. And this has nothing to do with love. And that is magical touch of the connection part. There is something extremely delicious in connecting. When she receives the good intentions from his family, she knows she is lucky.

Of course when she talks about him they see that her eyes are sparkling, her smile is more nervous. Of course that is unavoidable. She never wants to hide her feelings. Whoever in his family can perceive it, this is fine with her. She just never discusses with them about her relationship with him. Her love is kept in bashfulness, in decency. She would never discuss anything like that with them. Of course she is the one who could analyze him in details because she knows him by heart. And his loved ones can feel that. She could share a lot with them. Her childhood. Her memories. Her emotional injuries in the past. But not her love for him. This, they would have to guess or see only in her eyes. Or perceive it in her silence.

On both sides, what is delightful is the connection. The sharing, the sweet delicacy between adults, between human beings.

The link is marvelous and not fragile. The connection is easy. Far beyond love. Tenderness it is. With or without him in the equation. That is very important to her.

I trust the sun


Powerful yet silken sun

I have found the right words

I have located the exact feelings

I have shaped the exact form

Sun like this

Let me know exactly what I need to know

I love you

Until the last ray of sun

Disappears by the end of the day

I still have a simple certainty

Things between us will always end in laughs anyway

Trust the sun

To dry out the tears

If tears ever come one day

I have found the right words today

I love you

And I trust the sun



I hope she dreams of him too…

An old friend came to visit me yesterday. A sunny afternoon welcome her. We sat outside, enjoying the sun the whole afternoon, starving for the sun after a very long and tough winter, talking about the old days when they used to share an office. I talked about my love. About the old days when we used to work the three of us together. My friend, my love and me on the same project, sharing our days. Everyday for two years long. I had my eyes wide open, sparkling under the sun, when I talked about him. My energy was overflowing. My enthusiasm was bursting. I mentioned his name in drunkenness. Without any alcohol drink. My excitement was free. The sun posed its warmth on my skin. A feeling of a feather. No more no less. I absorbed the sun and sent it back into words. Words of love. My friend looked at me. She said she had never seen me like that. I repeated again and again. A thousand of times. He is the best. He is great. I love him. No matter how. No matter what. My friend ordered a third glass of wine. She drank for me. For both of us. In my limitless love. In my unconditional love. She wished me the best. And said cheers to me. She said that he was different. He was like nobody else. And probably that was why I fell deeply in love with him. More sun caressed my face. I closed my eyes one second. Enough time to see him there. Moments like that I understood the deep meaning of love and eternity. One second of silence between me and the sun and him. The world was in order. I was untouchable. Unbreakable. Invincible.

My friend said that she would probably dream of him at night too. Because I talked so much about him. For me dreaming of him was sure thing. No night is different from the others. Every night I dream of him. No matter how I had spent my day. At two in the morning, his mail arrived. I saw it and jumped like a kid on the couch. I shouted out of happiness. My friend laughed out loud. I was still jumping on the couch. And shouted: I love him. Don’t you see it.

I said good night to my friend, went to bed. Listened to his song. My favorite one ever. A whiter shade of pale of Procol Harum. I closed my eyes. Slowly. “Would you dance with me on this song, my love?”. That was my last thought. No, the last thought was actually: “I hope she dreams of him too. He is the best. She will have the best dream ever.”

PS: this is one of my favorite moments in life – when the sun is shining that much, I am with my coffee, writing a post about him, looking outside – my street is still quiet.


Old notes


Would you be my last dance?

Dancing through the same song

Of the broken record

Would you agree to love me madly?

Loving me through the same life

Of a mended heart

Would you promise to dissipate the clouds?

To bring back the sun

Would you mind if I ask?

In my old notes written after our first meeting

“Damn, he is the best…”

After a few hours with you

Would you mind not to change?

My old notes have changed color, look like years ago

Yesterday I wrote a new line, but an easy one

“he is the best…still”

Would you accept to be nothing

To cherish the “you and me”

I have nothing to lose

But ask

My old notes had agreed so

Even dusty and colorless

But old notes never lie

A good person


Truth is I cannot find anything about you that I don’t like. When people talk about you, when people mention your name, like a kid, like an adolescent first time in love, I feel butterflies. I think I know you better than anyone else. I am in your head. I am in your tortured mind. I am in your good and generous soul. You do not need to open up to me. I read you. I imagine you in your room, the same room as when you were a kid. I see you reading. I see you thinking. And reading, and thinking, and absorbing the world in your body. I wish I could help you in lightening the world, coloring the view from your eyes. I wish I could carry with you a bit of those thoughts.

Things we cannot change alone, we will change together. I wish we had time for that.

I have never loved someone this way. I have never loved someone like I love you now. Everything is about you in this love. I have not once wanted you to think of me. It is enough for me to imagine you. To see you. In your mind and in mine.

The butterflies I feel are never about me. The butterflies I feel in my stomach when I know you are happy, when you are in peace. It is never about what you gives to me.

I wish I could be there to listen more often to your aspirations. I regret sometimes I neglect that part. I wish I could be there more often. Simply more often.

Truth is there is nothing else to say more than just the love for you. As much as I could analyze, look into the “problem”, there is only that one truth. When people talk about you, when people mention your name, I blush. I love you more than my skin. I love you more than my life. There is nothing I dislike about you. As much as I could think. You are a such a good person.

Yes, you are such a good person. I see you. Butterflies. Blushing. I love a good person. I love, love, and love. A good person. It is fundamentally important.

What you could like

Lägeren_Lehrstuhlwanderung (29)

At first I thought it was spring rain

But then I still felt the cold

I thought of you when it started to rain

I thought of you again when a timid ray of sun tried to shadow the raindrops

I thought of you because the cold would frighten you

I knew exactly how you would feel in the cold

The weak ray of sun would make you smile

I thought I knew what would make you happy

I looked at the world

Thinking of you

No details could escape my mind

I thought of what you could like and not like

Even mundane details

Like the rain tonight

I guessed

You thought of me sometimes

I guessed

You loved me sometimes

And little by little

I observed you

No details could escape my mind

Even mundane details

Something told me

That you loved me sometimes

And little by little

Day after day

While I love you

All the time


Right from the beginning

I felt the spring rain

The shy ray of sun still there

Caressing my cheeks

I felt the warmth

And everything you could like

The sweet and warm taste of the raindrops

Playing with the sun

Convinced me

I was part of what you like too

She had died and resuscitated with only his voice


I’m just following the plan that has already been laid out. Continuing to live, alone, in this unreasonable world – where there are two moons in the sky…(..) the only choice I have is to believe that Tengo will return to this playground, and to wait here patiently until he does. I can’t leave – this is the only point of contact between him and me. (IQ84 – Haruki Murakami)

She tasted hell. She tasted heaven. In just a few hours. Love was a weak word. She did not even understand what had happened to her. The love was immense, huge, unbelievable. She knew there was something almost insane about her love. People around her started to live this love too. She was contagious. The pain she had felt inside her muscles and bones slowly spread out around her, reaching her people. Her friends started to panic with her. She spread out her doubts, her questions, her insecurity. Nobody could reason her. Everybody turned out nervous and almost insane like her, by the end of the day. Until she could hear his voice, she could not breath. She had not eaten the whole day. She had not drunk anything else than two coffees early in the morning. She had no appetite. She tried to be normal, walking to downtown, doing some groceries, trying to act normally. Second after second. Minute after minute. She felt more and more uncomfortable. She needed so much to hear his voice. She understood vaguely what people said to her. The cashier asked her three times to pay. She stood there. Looking at something in front of her. It could be anything. Nothing really mattered. She walked out of the store, like a zombie. She felt like she had already died and she was just carrying her body around town. A body with no senses, no reactions. She had lost her mind. At the precise moment. She could cry but nothing came out. She tried to get hold of some friends. Nobody answered. She felt very weak again. She could hear her heart, begging her to let the brain win, for once. Please. The heart begged her for rest, for peace. She could not help but promise.

Until she could hear his voice. His sweet, same old as usual voice. Until she could talk to him. And tell him: where are you ?

Until she could hear his voice. And hear him laugh. During the call, she remembered having said to him: I love you, could you feel it ? Could you feel it?

She lost consciousness for a few seconds after that call. The love was immense, huge, unbelievable. Within a few hours, she had died and resuscitated. With only his voice.

There was no idealization in her love but she had once called him God


Today is his birthday.

She gathers all the words written through the last past year dedicating to him or an idea of him, whoever he is or could be.

This is LOVE through words:

I put on a Bach concerto, came closer to him, stopped all the words, let him kiss me and undress me. Was I on earth? Was I in heaven? Death, immortality, do I want to live forever for that moment? Or do I want to die right away after that kiss, that touch? I could say “yes” to all these questions.

With him, she had lost her cynical vision of a couple. With him, she had wished for routine. With him, she had never asked for the permission to leave.

Each fight scene in the movie made me wonder: is his broken toe still hurt? Does the cut above his left eye cicatrize well? Are his ears still swollen from all the fights? And all the other injures? Probably they are all scars by now.

Without you/ My shadow decomposed/ I tried to follow dots and spots /Of light/ To recompose myself of particles/ That you had once composed.

I split myself into two/ So me and my other self /We can both love you/ When one of us wants to walk away/ The other can stay and love you

Read my lips/I LOVE YOU/These words even in no sound/ Are still eternally made for you/ By me and only me

I whispered into his left ear “I love you” and put my hand on his right ear so that the sound of these three words could stay there forever. It was symbolic and it was my last word to him. I omitted on purpose the word “forever”. Because it will not be true.

If you can remember me/Remember the friendship/Because it was how we had started

I never learn from PAIN. Past sufferings never serve as a lesson. Though there was always a moment of hesitation because of fear. But then love always wins. I learn a lot from LOVE. One thing I learned from love was to accept its consequences. Including pain. Alas.

I never understand the meaning of “doing activities” or “doing new activities”/To change the ideas and to forget you or to think less of you/You are forever/Like the blue sky, like the green grass/There are things/That we cannot change

My legs shake/My body trembles/You hold me tight/We stand there/At the most romantic square in town/But for once it is all grey and melancholic/I kiss your lips/Wet of my tears/Why do you look so sad?/Because we are over/Or because tears and kisses/Are always a sad combination?

I am an ordinary person/I live an ordinary life/My thoughts are ordinary/The only thing extraordinary about me/Is my love for you/So I hang on to it day after day/Because deep down/I want to be extraordinary.

He looks at her. He has one expression. Sad. Sad and sad. Now he feels something. Sadness. His cup of coffee is empty. Her glass of wine is empty. She stands up, hails the waitress. He leans against her and puts his head against her belly. They stay like that for a while. They hear the wind, the leaves and the trees crying, as a sign of sympathy for their sad farewell. Sad love is in the air. Strong love is in her heart. Unique love is him. Like a silent tornado broken inside her.

I took my time to fall in love with you. I took my time to love you. There has never been any emergency. Nothing in me will ever turn into memories with you. Nothing was sudden. Nothing was impalpable.

With no intentions/No objectives/No confusion/No hurry/I love you/In no directions/In no blindness

You inspired me/Love combined with freedom/My soul has grown/Not even you can imagine/I am your disciple/In my love and your freedom

Tomorrow I go and get the sun for you/I will go and get enough of everything for you/Things you need and things you don’t need

I anticipate his actions/I anticipate his boredom/I anticipate his enthusiasm/I anticipate his feelings/I anticipate his pain/I see him in the dark/I hear him in silence/I read him without words

I am a flawed human being. With a perfect love. My heart is pounding. I bury doubts, questions. I give back the air, the oxygen, I have enough of everything to breathe. I defy loneliness. I can nourish myself out of this perfect love for you. That love which replaces air, sky, stars, rain, sun. I am a flawed human being who survives out of everything. Thanks to you.

I stayed exactly two minutes in front of the house, exactly at the same spot where we were kissing. I said to myself: “I had loved him exactly here. Ice is cold, roses are red. I fell in love exactly here.”

Love you floating/Love you breathing/Love you in apnea/Love you/ Losing my mind

Times I spent with him/Like vodka, like martini, like tequila, like sake/Times I spent with him/Like honey, like chocolate, like cupcakes

If I could catch a ray of sun/I would wrap it in my frozen hands/And sent it to you in a postal letter/In an old way with envelop and stamp

How can/could I love that much? Loving that much just empties you all inside. But I don’t feel empty at all. I feel lucky somehow. So many things had happened in between. Between this first post and all the other ones in my blog. However the power of that love just stands out among all other things.


No strategy would ever work in love

No strategy would ever work when you are in love.

Silence – Indifference – Scream – Deafness – Death

No theory – No analysis – Nothing works

When your heart is in command

Behind each door you open is a maze

All paths are dead end

You had never thought that your brain could be that useless

You wish there was a miracle

That would make you fall out of love

Fill your ears with music

Surround yourself with sweetness

Thanks God for giving you the capacity to love

Or get angry with Him for giving you such curse

No strategy would ever work when you are in love

So just wait in hopelessness

Until the love would vanish

Or pray for it to die

Don’t blame yourself for being naive

Limit the collateral damage

Stop the bleeding

Say to yourself: “Next time I will better protect myself”

Knowing there will be no next time

How could she leave him?


“It’s a terrible story. We worked so hard, so hard, building our world one brick at a time. And when it fell apart, it happened just like that. Everything was gone before you knew it.” (Norwegian Wood – Haruki Murakami)

She woke up this morning at 4am. Staying in bed she stared at the ceiling and started to think. There are a thousand of reasons that make people leave their partners, the loved ones. The majority of them is linked to the loved one’s personality, to how they had disappointed the other one, to what extent they had hurt the other one. Yes, most of the reasons derive from the actions, the words of the loved ones.  Most of the times that is precisely the trigger. The actions, the words, the personality.

This morning she woke up and knew that she was going to leave him. She had never doubted about his personality. She had loved him all these years for that personality. She loved his essence, his philosophy of life. She loved everything he had in him. He had disappointed her more than once. He had hurt her more than once. She accepted him as he is. She knew from the beginning that she had been doomed to love him unconditionally. Nothing that came from him, even the ugliest thing or habit of him, nothing could ever make her fall out of love. It was that kind of certainty of love she had experienced right from the beginning of the story with him.

But today she will leave him. How come? How could she leave him? Has she become insane after one night ? Has she lost her mind? She wants to be generous in love. She wants to love him more. She wants to be free to love him the way she wants. She wants to love him without strategy, without calculation. And she realizes that if she stays, for her love to survive she needs to be misely, to be less generous, to be common. To calculate. To resist. And she really hates it. She will need to jeopardize her whole personality to be with him. She will have to be someone else, someone whom she disregards; someone she will despise.

She had never realized that in spite of his amazing personality in everything in life, he had no capacity of receiving love. In everything else, he was exceptional. In receiving love, he was common and weak. He did not know how to prosper in love. He did not evolve in love. He was not receptive to beautiful gestures and feelings. Accepting him was fine for her. Staying with him and witnessing his insensitivity to love would perish her sooner or later. His space for love was narrow, incongruous. Her love for him was trapped in this narrowness. She felt imprisoned. Her love could not escape. Sooner or later it would become tasteless and common if she would not take care of it. Urgently.

She got out of her bed. She was not different from other people. Finally the reason that made her leave would be the same as that of anyone else. There was something from him. Indeed, this perfect personality. Her soul mate. He seemed to have a defect too. He did not know how to receive her love. Call it clumsiness, immaturity, selfishness, whatever. The fact remains that she could not stay to see their relationship turn into something common. She would never allow such deterioration.

The love will last forever. She knew it. And so do the perfection of this love. Call it dreamer, utopia, unrealistic, immaturity, whatever. That is just how she loves. The only way she knows.

Trust me


“I really wanted to see you,” I said.

“And I really wanted to see you, too,” she said.

“When I couldn’t see you any more, I realized that. It was as clear as if the planets all of a sudden lined up in a row for me. I really need you. You’re a part of me I’m a part of you. You know somewhere -I’m not at all sure where- I think I cut something’s throat. Sharpening my knife, my heart a stone. Symbolically, like making a gate in China. Do you understand what I’m saying?” (Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami)

She ran after the past, chased ghosts, saw the wall in front of her, stopped, turned around and left. The past. First love never died, she knew it. But present love occupied her mind. She missed her present love. She has missed him so much the last few days. Like hell, she had missed him. She was not afraid to be back in the past because she was convinced of her present love. She tried to let him know that. She wished he would know too without her explanations and all her words the last few days. And he would feel that love, somehow. She was only afraid to have hurt him. By being in the past just for a while. But there was no doubt. There was never ever of any doubt. She might honor the past all these years. But she has offered her heart to the present now. To him. A long while now. Exactly the last nineteen months. In spite of the distance. This love has survived, has grown up. She has fed it with all her energy, devotion. All kind of sacrifices that would help to nourish that love. She loves her present. In its flaw, its suffering, its absence. She once told him: “I love you as an absence, and that will be forever”. There was no idealization in the process. but she had once called him God. She once wanted to tattoo his name on her chest. Because even though it could be the silliest thing to do, she knew she could always say: “I had once loved him as crazy. I love him to death. I tattoo his name because he will never be a regret or a mistake”.  Today her love has reached insanity, craziness, irreality. The present scares her. Not the past. The past was nothing compared to the present. She could go back to the past as long as she wanted. The past was nothing because she had lived it through. But would he understand that without her trying to explain? All she could say now is: “Trust me”.

First love never dies


“When I fall in love, it will be forever”, Nat King Cole sang it. Probably true.

When you fall out of love, when you break up, when you stop seeing the other person, have you always thought that this person is out of your life forever? Or at least at that moment, you THINK that you are done with him/her. The story is over. The explanations are said. Then you move on with our life. You forget about him/her. Years go by, time passes by. You think of them sometimes. A scarce thought. Sometimes when you have time you even ask where they could be, what they would become, if they were happy in their lives. Sometimes you even wish to have a chance to see them again for a coffee and catch up. But mostly, you think that falling out of love with that person is a “done business”.

Have you ever experienced this? Suddenly you have news from them. Out of a sudden. And for a moment the person is back in your life, just as if you had never fallen out of love or left him/her. Suddenly every single thing you had lived with them is back again. All your memories with them are vivid, it was like yesterday. It was like you had always loved them. And they had always been part of your life, after all these years and you just need a trigger to put back together all the pieces of memories and puzzles inside your head. You run to the cellar and start to dig into your huge dusty old box with all his/her letters and read them all again. You don’t have the feeling of falling in love with them again. You have the feeling that you have never stopped loving them. That’s the funniest thing.

You see yourself again, like in a movie scene, when you had a huge fight together in the street, in January, you were in pajama, barefoot, freezing cold, and then after that fight you got a serious pneumonia for a month. You see yourself in that passionate love in your twenties. Sharing the first nice dinner out which was by the time a nice pizzeria because you just had enough money to go out for a fancy pizza when you were seventeen. Sitting in the cellar with all the dusty letters in fading ink you let yourself float together with these memories. You realize that you have loved a few times after that but surprisingly your other loves always have something exactly like this person you once loved deeply.

When you fall in love, it will be forever, probably true.

They are never completely out of your life if they were once important to you. The ones who had counted. They never really disappear. They somehow are always there. Of course there are only very few of them. For me it was just one. My first love. First love never dies. No matter how. It has just been stored somewhere in my heart. The old box of letters will stay in the cellar. I leave it there. I read all the letters once again. I don’t miss any details. I remember everything. First love does not die. It just rests.

The love that is not a cliché


I don’t mind if you say no

I say yes for both of us

I don’t mind if you are not there

I am there for both of us

I invent a new language

I reverse the time zones

I make rain

I make blue sky

I bring water to the desert

I plant flowers on the volcano

I move the mountains

For you

A cliché ?

No no no

Not a cliché

I fashion the world at your taste

I bribe God

To get you the best of the best

Morning scream in music


A midnight blue, day and night
I’ve been missing you
I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
Almost makes me crazy
Come and live with me

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near
I wrote you a letter, I tried to make it clear
That you just don’t believe that I’m sincere
I’ve been thinking about you, baby

Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here
I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near

I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby
I want you to live with me

This morning I woke up. Definitely calmer than yesterday. Or at least it was the first impression. As soon as my eyes got the first light of the day from a tiny slit of the shutter, an acute pain squeezed my chest but short, quick pain. I projected myself to the future. Something I have never done for months now. Thinking of the future. The thought of the future. Future that meant to be in five week time. When he will be leaving again. His date of departure has not yet been set. But its certainty is undeniable.

I put on this song of Massive Attack. I just discovered it a few days ago. The song penetrated my skin, soaked into my bones. I felt cold. The voice was groaning and moved me deep. Maybe it was circumstantial but each word was cutting me into pieces. “A midnight blue, day and night I’ve been missing you I’ve been thinkin’ about you, baby Almost makes me crazy Come and live with me Times, nothing’s right, if you ain’t here I’ll give all that I have just to keep you near I want you to live with me “.  I could groan in a same hoarse voice mixed with sobs and tears and nobody could distinguish the sadness of the song or that of my soul.

I felt another round of punches. I squeezed tight my pillow, put it over my stomach and wrapped myself, smothered under the blanket. Acute pain, longer, more insistent. He will go away soon. I stayed in the fetus position, my way to protect myself from suffering. For a long while. I could hear the ticking sound of the alarm clock. Like a count-down. Each ticking seemed to count the days left before he is gone again. Each regular ticking sound mixed with the deep regular moaning sound of the song in perfect harmony, sentencing the end of my happiness. For a short while, I had the feeling that I had flirted with a slow death. The feeling of losing him again. Seeing him going away. Again. Seeing him going in another direction, in another part of the world. In this big world we had crossed paths for a second. Just for a second. I heard myself screaming. I screamed the unfairness of life. Of love. Of everything.

The scream lasted with the last note of the song. I disappeared in my large bed. No more sound suddenly. The room fell into silence. But I could still hear my love for him.

What is left to do…


I am officially depressed.

What is left to do is to collect all the snow flakes, keep them preciously in a box in a perfect temperature so they cannot melt and give them to you in summer.

What is left to do is to count my footsteps on the snow and be sure that it would be less than a billion of them until I reach you.

What is left to do is to close my eyes and be sure that your shadow will always dazzle in the dark.

What is left to do is to wallow on the snow and be sure that only the heat of my heart can save me from the cold.

What is left to do is to eviscerate myself before the feeling of missing you would empty me anyway.

I am officially depressed or I love you into depression.

How can I know ?


(Painting of Edvard Munch “The Day After” , National Museum of Oslo)

What would make me happy a day like this ?

What would make me happy a day like today?

It is so dark outside and the snow is falling again. This winter is terrifying. I had a bad lunch that hurt my stomach for hours. I had a lesson of harpsichord, my fingers were stiff. The piece was all about the beginning of the romantic era and I could not play it with stormy feelings. My teacher told me that I was cold today. Truth is I was a bit lack of sleep, lack of vitamines, lack of sun. Monday is always tough. And a German class is waiting for me this evening. Nothing really fancy today, really.

What would make me happy a day like today ?

I would love to run on the beach, feeling sand in between my toes. I would love to feel sun on my face. I would love to have a good vietnamese soup prepared by my grandmother. I would love to sing tonight in a karaoke bar, maybe just to spend my energy, move my voice. I don’t know.

What would make me happy right now?

I would love to be hold in his arms and hear his laugh, listen to his music, watch Youtube endlessly with him and laugh on silly things.

I want sun, I want beach, I want vietnamese food but most of all I want him. Nothing has much changed since the last 24 hours.

He is the sun, he is the beach, he is the vietnamese food, he is the song I want to sing. He is the piece of Bach I want to play. He is the stormy feeling I want to express. He is all the Mondays I will like if he were here.

Nothing alien


“You said you’re going far away. How far away are we talking about?”
“It’s a distance that can’t be measured.”
“Like the distance that separates one person’s heart from another’s. (IQ84 – Haruki Murakami)

Do you hear her screaming?

Do you feel her fear?

Do you hear her crying?

Do you feel her suffocating?

Penetrating screams

Convulsive warm tears

In her dream

Aliens abduct her love

He says goodbye and gets in the vessel

It was just a dream

Just a dream

That meant nothing

So why all the screams and tears and breathless fainting

She loves him

The kind of love

That abducts her life

That gets into her bones and skin

At night

That kind of love

Nothing alien

So real it is

Makes her breathe

Leaves her breatheless

That kind of love

Nothing alien

So true it is

Laurence anyways


Sunday evening – The last few days I thought that spring has finally shown up – I went to see a movie of the young Canadian director Xavier Dolan – “Laurence anyways”. Laurence is a high school teacher in Montreal, he writes poems, loves his girlfriend Fred and has a secret. Laurence feels like a man trapped in a woman’s body and the day he decides to share his deep secret to Fred, their exceptional love falls apart as Fred cannot stand the idea of seeing Laurence in a dress and with high heels. The movie is powerful in showing these struggling lovers, even though loving each other terribly, still cannot save their love. Laurence could not make Fred understand that his desire of being a woman has nothing to do with his love for Fred. Fred leaves Laurence, gets married, has a child. The movie is masterly directed. The soundtrack with music of the 90s gives goosebumps. Laurence never forgets Fred. He comes back to her twice but in vain. In the end he is beautiful as a woman but the expression of his face shows so much of suffering of the lost love.

It was unbearable to watch.

I got out of the movie theatre. I was with his mother. Spring was illusion. It started to snow again. It was cold once again. We said goodbye in the bus. I got out at another stop. We did not talk a lot in the bus. The movie was still in us. I believe.

I think of him.

I think of the love for him. On the bus.

I love his forehead. I love his eyebrows. I love each of his eyelashes. I love his left ear, his right ear. Swollen because of the fights. I love his chin, his lips, his twice-broken nose, his three-day beard with some grey parts. I love his arms, his forearms, his elbows, his tattoos. I love his hands, his fingers, dry because of the winter. I love his scars. I love each detail of him.

I love him like Laurence loves Fred in the movie. Like everything.

But exceptional love can be lost. As in the movie.

And as yesterday was spring and tonight is snow.

So I love him in no illusion.

An exceptional love in no illusion. tumblr_mby9mvnD4a1qi6bpc

In a nonfunctional universe


Wilted flowers cover the field

Green leaves falling down from trees

The river empty of water

Dry stones from the bottom

Heavy blue clouds ready to cry

The sad expression of the clown

Children who do not laugh at the circus

Horses at a weak gallop

Eagles with no impetus

Wine tastes like water

Her gaze sweeping emptiness

Her lips still sore of his kisses

Her hero just left

She saw herself roving without gravity

In a disordered

Nonfunctional universe

Until the next time

He is back

(Painting of Edvard Munch – Kiss – National Museum of Oslo)

Love’s dialogues


He : “Why do you like writing on the blog?”

She: “Because I need to scream my love for you somewhere otherwise I could suffocate.”


She: “You know that I wanted so much to send you hearts on the Valentine’s day but then I said to myself: No, I should not. Then remember I only sent to you some huge red girly hearts the next morning.”

He: “Why do you think that much? Next time just send me whatever you feel like and whenever you feel like.”


She: “I can write to you everyday, telling things, a lot of things I want to share. Is it too much?”

He: “No, it’s perfect”


She: “Don’t you think I am calmer and more peaceful this year, I think less. Don’t you see that?”

He: “You have always been calm and peaceful, I love the way your positive vibe get to me.”


He: “What are you going to do today?”

She: ” I don’t know yet but I will go to the movie with your mom tomorrow for sure.”

He: “Yes, and doing some lady-stuff as usual, right. But it’s good.”


He: “Do you believe in true love?” (singing along with the music resonated in the room)

She: “Yes, I do. It’s you.”

Whether you like it or not…


The most amazing thing of all existing things is him. No matter how far I want to get away from him. No matter how close to him I want to come back.

What can I say?

There are people who don’t need to do anything to change your life. Their existence only already means the whole world to you. Whether you like it or not. You spend time with them and the next day you wake up, realizing that the rest of your life will be only days of boredom without them. You have some difficulties to understand whether it is a good thing or a bad thing to be under that much influence. Whether you are scared or not, you cannot run away from this fact. You can shut down your mind for a moment, you decide not to think of them for a while, you can do whatever you want, you just cannot escape.

You look out of the window, the buildings usually obstructing the view disappear under your eyes and make room for a beautiful sky. What do they have these people ? What do they give? What do they have that make them that special? Are they even aware of their power ? The times you spend with them become the most memorable times in your life. The music you listen to with them become the most meaningful music ever. Whether you like or not. There is nothing you can do about that. Something just pushes you to go to the edge. You just need to get there. With them in your mind. Whether you like it or not, you experience from heaven to hell one minute from another. You know that you have reached your limits and the point of no return. But you cannot do anything about that. The love for them that you carry with you becomes part of you, like oxygen. You don’t survive if you quit. You don’t survive if you give up. You pray you will never get hurt.

You look out of the window. You wish you could forget them. Fall out of love. At the same time, you wish there could be a thousand more of people like them, to brighten the world. And that kind of contradiction keeps you moving everyday. Good days you smile with that idea. Bad days you accept the fact. Bearing them as bearing life. Light and heavy. Great and tough. Yet essential.

Do you love him that much ?


I take a walk

I distance myself

I protect myself

Not from you

But from me

Winter in me prolongs

Spring in me slows to come

Summer in me is mystery

Your smile cannot get the snow to melt

I look at you and ask myself:

“Do you love him that much?”

I guess the answer is still yes

But why then winter never ends

Do I love you that much?

To not fear winter

To live in no season

In timeless longings

Will you be there to mend

The fragile non-existing spring of my heart?


My birthday

Today is my birthday

A bit of sun

A bit of clouds

A bit of me


A lot of me


All of me


Sure thing


PS: In this picture, I had no food for the ducks so when I tried to get closer to them, they just walked away from me. I hope this is not the way I will have to chase for happiness in real life. Exchanging things for happiness ? No – I hope not…;-)

Let me think


In the past – In the last year I said that loving you is self-redemption. You had saved me. Somehow. In the lost path of mine scattered with insignificant feelings. Then you came. Offering me a new world. Renewing my soul.

This morning I woke up with the most awkward, terrifying thought. Do I still need to love you now that I am self-redeemed, now that I am saved?

Not that I am an ungrateful person. Not that you had saved me then we are almost done. Loving you the last past year had proved to me how capable I could love, how intense I could become when I fell in love.

It made sense to me but then it’s fading. The love and you. So airy. So light. So distant. Suddenly that thought: And if I don’t love you anymore?

Could it be gone the love? Or it is just temporary? Let me think. Usually I don’t think when it comes to love you. Now I have to think to feel. Usually I just feel.

What happened to me ? Is it the cold ? Is it the long winter? Is it because of all the trips far away from home? Is it because I feel so free?

Is it possible that I don’t love you anymore ? Just like that. The self-redemption stays with me forever. Is the love gone ?

Let me think. Let me think. Let me think.

I still want to love you. I just don’t feel it. Today. This damn morning of winter.

Fading away

He told me once the best cure for love is absence. In absence, everything fades away. I believe he is right. Completely right.

I have been in couple for one year and three months. Ups and downs. With faith. Losing faith. Most of the times in sadness more than in joy. I have been struggling. My couple was a sad challenge. But explaining why needs more than one piece of this blog.

During the whole year, my love for him seemed to fade away. Indeed. Or at least I thought so. I have been trying so hard in my couple that all sentiments or feelings I could have for him and which I could call “love” seemed very confused to me. All it counted for me was my couple and my partner. I maintained contacts with “him” but I rarely initiated them. He wrote to me almost everyday. But he knows that I am not free anymore.

I remember I announced to him my intention not to be single or not to wait for him during his times abroad. By e-mail. The last time we saw each other before my decision to be in couple (or to have a boyfriend) I did not tell him the truth. We just spent an evening like any other ones, having dinner together and talked and talked and talked with all the intensity possible that we could not notice anything else than our own energy. I could not find the courage to tell him that. In the night I wrote him a letter, telling him that I would stop the blog and thank him for the inspiration, that finally I had found someone to spend my life with and he could surely understand me as he could not offer me more. I insisted we stayed friends. He was supposed to stay in the country for six weeks before heading back to Asia. The day after my e-mail his mom told me he booked a flight for the next day and shortened the 6 weeks to one week time. I received his answer to my mail from Phuket, he said he understood me and we will always be friend and if I ever doubted about that, he would be very angry.

Since then, he always wrote to me first. Day by day.

I have put all of my energy and efforts and affection, everything I had into my new relationship. My love has faded away ? Or I just hid it somewhere or on hold ? I truly don’t know how to answer this question. My commitment to my couple was real and true and sincere.

One year and three months after I started the blog again. Asking myself where I stand with this love. He is back from his trip. He has not changed. He told me he had never written to anyone else that much and he was still very solitary. He told me he has always felt comfortable when being with me and what he loved most was our evenings together in the past. We never mentioned my couple again. Every night he sent me a song. Sometimes I thanked him. Sometimes not. It has nothing to do with my couple. Or yes, maybe it has everything to do with my couple. Am I happy ? I don’t know. Has my love for him died ? I don’t know. Truly I don’t know.

I am back and so is he…

I was away for a while.

I thought I had nothing more to say about love. Then I was wrong.

I saw him tonight. The same. The only one about whom I wrote and the reason why I started this blog two years ago.

I saw him tonight. We are friends now. But I have been missing him all these days, months. I have been missing him so badly that tonight I decided to write about him again. After one year and three months. I have not been talking about him for one year and three months. I have been thinking of him. And missing him for one year and three months.

I am back and so is he, in my life.