Marry me !

“How are you today ?”, he asked. After a week seeing me crying, whining, acting like a drama queen.

“I am a bit better now.”

“Good”, he smiled gently at me.

“Because I have come to a very important decision”, I said.

“…”

“I decided to ask you to marry me. In the poverty, in wealth, in sickness, in good health. What else? Until death tears us apart.”

“Good. Let’s do it. I let you take care of announcing the news to the family, ok ?”, he answered.

I love his answer. See, that is what I like about youth. Say that to a man of 38 years old, no, first you can never say that to a man you date if he is from 35 to 55 years old. It would destroy your relationship right away, I think. But when you say it to your cute friend of 20 years old, he gets enthusiastic about the idea. Maybe or certainly because he knows that nothing could ever happen, because the barrier of age and the reality will always save him from a real commitment. Still, he could have said nothing back.

No, no and no. It is not a matter of age. He is just like that. A heroic, chivalrous, knightly kind of man/kid. He is so bountiful to me, that’s all.

He is just like that. It is just the way he is. And that is why he is my joy. An answer like that enchants you for days. Believe me. Especially when I was the one who talked about marriage knowing deep down that I am protected by our difference of age. Funny isn’t it ?

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Youth

The other day I was with a group of friends of my age (above 35). They started to ask me why I have seen them less and less lately and instead I prefer meeting young friends, less than 28 years old. I perceived a slight tone of mockery in their voices. “Don’t you think they don’t have much experiences to share? Don’t you think that conversations could be limited?”.

I felt a strong need to stand up for my young friends. I love young people. I work with young people. I am surrounded with young people. And I truly disagree with my friends.

We live now in a difficult period where unemployment rate gets higher each year. The world is not as sweet as in the 60s, I think. When we could leave the door unlock and nothing could happen. Or in the 70s, the whole hippy and peace period, when love was spread out everywhere. Nowadays young people get out of college and they are not sure to be able to find a decent job. I don’t say that they are more or less optimistic than older people. I think there are no major differences because of the age. It is not about the perception of life. I think we all perceive life and its difficulties in a similar way, young or old. No one is dupe. The difference is how young people deal with life once they see all the flaws and difficulties.

We, old people, are tired, our luggage we have carried through years gets heavier and heavier. Young people travel with a light suitcase. Few experiences. It is not about innocence or purity either because believe me, they are not. It is just the way they embrace life and how they get ready. There is a touch of adventurousness which amazes me each time.

It is their future that I like. I think I like being with them, accompanying them to see how they will turn out, what they would become one day. I think I like being this kind of observer. And I never underestimate the knowledge of kids nowadays. I always learn something new from them.

I like the way they tell me their hopes, their love stories, the way they live or experience sex. They can worry, they can be sad but never in the same way as people of my age. The possibilities of a better life are still with them. They don’t feel the need to stay in couple out of convenience. They don’t feel the need to cheat in couple, they just walk away when they fall out of love.

When I am with them, I see the world with their eyes. Things cannot be that dramatic because there are still so many years to live and many surprises to come. With my friends, we are like in a tunnel. We know that we had lived this or that. We get stuck with each other. We see each other’s situations and we don’t envy that. We are sad creatures talking about the same thing when we are together. I don’t deny them. I don’ want to be young forever either. It is just a feeling: with my young friends, I am a feather. Because my experiences never scare them away and they never judge any of my behaviors. With my friends, I am like a stone.

That was my clumsy way to explain and defend my young friends. I hope I did not hurt the older ones’ feelings. But they need to know. And maybe I am wrong and it is not an issue of age, but rather a question of personality. Maybe young people can be old and old people can stay young in their spirit. I cannot generalize and this is just a thought.

I share this because it is a beautiful sunny day and I will be heading to the lake to meet my young friends now.

Happy afternoon to all !

Rebel of love

I am a rebel of love.

There are so many rules in love we have to follow these days. Someone told me once about the “72 hours” dating rule. It means that when you meet a guy, if he texts you, never text back before 72 hours, so that you don’t sound desperate. How stupid is that ! I never apply any rules in matters of texting. If I have time and see the text, I text back. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes it is just minutes after. Once I had a drink with a guy. He asked me: “Why did you accept to have a drink with me right away ? You did not wait 72 hours to answer. It seems that you are not very busy”. Wow ! He apparently knew that rule. The drink lasted less than 30 minutes, I told him that actually I was very busy and had to go. I had saved myself some time. In less than 72 hours, I knew that there was nothing to pursue with a guy who preferred waiting.

Then there is the rule of “play hard to get”. What can it change anyway ? If the guy doesn’t like you, you can play hard to get, never say “yes”. You play hard to get for nothing then, he doesn’t care anyway.

I never follow any rules. I always think that the quicker you know how the guy feels about you, or how the story “smells”, the quicker you get the idea and can decide to go for it or to move on.  It is useless to keep the game open when it is not meant to be.

Funny thing is somehow I still believe that love is a big game. Some like the “simple” game with well-established rules right at the beginning, others play but are afraid to get burned. Some see love as a poker game with all the possibilities to cheat and yes, we can somehow lose a fortune over it. You can bet all you have, you can bet your heart and your soul, the other person might follow you with everything he has on his side or just leave the table when he has nothing to offer. The best game for me would be at the end the two persons leave the table and say: “it was a damn good game, and now we could use all this money to live our lives together.”

I am a rebel of love because it is the only time I play games. I only bet at this poker table. I would give all my heart. I would give any penny I have to give the thrill and the passion to the game, even if it will leave me broke. It would be the only time that an empty pocket would fill up my heart.

Unfortunately, most of the times, the game always ends a bit earlier than planned. The other person doesn’t want to bet, is too scared to bet and finally prefers to stay on the safe side. The game becomes quickly very boring for both parties.

I am a rebel of love because I don’t follow rules but I realize I can’t change the world. I can’t change the mentality of nowadays’ rules of love. You cannot survive if you are the only one being spontaneous, direct, truthful or sincere. I don’t put my heart right there on my sleeve but I don’t hide it when it feels something. At some point, I should reconsider my thinking and position. I might have to stop rebelling. My heart has a limited capacity of accepting full passionnate game too. I might have to slow down from now on.

Distance vs. proximity

She regrets the time when they were apart. When he was 4’300 miles away, the distance protected him. She could write to him every day. He was happy to receive her mails, partly because he was alone in a foreign country but most definitely with the distance he felt safe, he did not need to worry that their relationship could go too far or could progress in a positive way. He had let her feed him with her love daily and he had accepted with a certain pleasure.

The moment they were in the same city again, everything for him became complicated. Or more precisely, his interpretation of how things could happen was complicated and irrational. The way he sees things is from a wrong perspective and angle. He anticipated wrong feelings from her. He still did not get her or understand what she really wanted. From his side, he cogitated for nothing. He was scared even though she did not ask for anything. No more, no less. She was being the same woman, just like the one during his absence. He interpreted everything wrong. A text of her to say good morning, like she used to do it, and suddenly he thought that she wanted to see him. He felt the need to text back and said something useless such as: “I have no time, I have things to do, I have to work”. He forgot that she had a life too and this life without him she had been living for months now. She certainly missed him, everyday, or now and then. But she was always alone and he was never there. She was surrounded with other people and friends. He was simply a shadow of her dreams, or desires or maybe love.

It became too complicated that she was obliged to stop saying hello and simply to stop suggesting anything even simple, a coffee, a movie, a drink. The subjective over-interpretation from his part has started to suffocate her feelings. She could not even offer a nice gesture without him thinking that she might want something more. It became annoying.

Everything between them became less natural. She was annoyed he could think that she was clingy. Distance is not that bad sometimes. The feeling of being able to express herself freely was lost somewhere between the ten bus stops separating their homes. Too bad he could not handle that.

Sometimes people think that long-distance relationships are difficult to live with. She thinks differently. Long-distance empowered her love, gave him courage to be there (because he could not be there). They were closer than never. Now they are not even 30 minutes away from each other, yet they hardly communicate. His fear terrifies her. His fear stops her from giving, from being spontaneous. She started to question herself too.

But she knew that it would happen the day he came back. He was this kind of man. The kind of man who put walls around him before you could even get close to him. Just to be sure that you can never get hold of him. The only time he was without this armor was when he was away. How sad for him ! He did not know what he would eventually miss. Their usual nice moments when they were once together. Their talks, their laughs. What he forgot was that the most beautiful thing between them was the real time they had spent together, not the time apart, virtually through e-mails. But as long as he was paralyzed by their proximity, she could not do nothing. If she saw him in the street, she would tell him the truth. Writing him a text to ask him to have this conversation, she would not risk that one more time.

She continued to live her life on her side, without him. She had spent the last three days being sad then suddenly all the sadness seemed familiar to her. It makes no difference anymore. He was there or not. It makes no difference. That was the worst thing for a relationship. Definitely there is one thing worse than love or hate: indifference. She read it somewhere.

She went out this evening and for the first time felt relieved and free.

Pain doesn’t help

Yesterday I went through a marvelous blog and the writer said that his act of writing is an act of desperation. I write out of desperation and sadness too most of the times.

This week was specially tough. Something terrible had happened to a friend of mine. I was in shock. I cried for help and support. The man I love and care for had let me down. I listened to a Frank Ocean’s song “We all try”, the song we used to listen to together. He did not try at all. He just let me down. He pushed me away. Because he was scared to be involved in my sorrows. So instead he just stayed in silence and then he said he did not want to justify his behaviors. Even a stranger would be nicer than him the last two days. I did not understand, did not ask for why. I can’t change a cold heart.

It is weird because right now I was too sad to be able to write. I have always thought that suffering and real pain help writers and inspire the words. But no, too much suffering, and too much pain freeze the creativity. Because it is way too personal and intimate to share such pain.

This is my worst piece.

Tonight, I am so in pain to write. It just shut me down.

This is you taking me seriously

I would marry you if you were not only twenty.

You catch me each time I fall.

You said you were not nice on the phone.

And then you used words to comfort me.

You said I need bandage for my broken heart

And you can just stop a brain hemorrhage.

If I came to die, you could have my books, my piano and my harpsichord.

You yelled at me, you almost cried.

I withdraw these bad thoughts.

I would never let you live such sorrows.

Thanks for being just a bandage of my pain.

I need you, MD.

Silence sounds like death

Silence sounds like death.

Vacuumed in your silence

I can hear your death.

Slowly I decline.

Slowly I faint.

You chose silence through death

Both of you don’t want me

But I will come and I will join

Because I still try

To understand the mute words of yours

I have been childish

I have been anxious

But I will come and I will join

The silence in you.

A Death scene (Emily Brontë)

 O day! he cannot die
When thou so fair art shining!
O Sun, in such a glorious sky,
So tranquilly declining;
 
He cannot leave thee now,
While fresh west winds are blowing,
And all around his youthful brow
Thy cheerful light is glowing!
 
Edward, awake, awake–
The golden evening gleams
Warm and bright on Arden’s lake–
Arouse thee from thy dreams!
 
Beside thee, on my knee,
My dearest friend, I pray
That thou, to cross the eternal sea,
Wouldst yet one hour delay:
 
I hear its billows roar–
I see them foaming high;
But no glimpse of a further shore
Has blest my straining eye.
 
Believe not what they urge
Of Eden isles beyond;
Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,
To thy own native land.
 
It is not death, but pain
That struggles in thy breast–
Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;
I cannot let thee rest!”
 
One long look, that sore reproved me
For the woe I could not bear–
One mute look of suffering moved me
To repent my useless prayer:
 
And, with sudden check, the heaving
Of distraction passed away;
Not a sign of further grieving
Stirred my soul that awful day.
 
Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;
Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:
Summer dews fell softly, wetting
Glen, and glade, and silent trees.
 
Then his eyes began to weary,
Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;
And their orbs grew strangely dreary,
Clouded, even as they would weep.
 
But they wept not, but they changed not,
Never moved, and never closed;
Troubled still, and still they ranged not–
Wandered not, nor yet reposed!
 
So I knew that he was dying–
Stooped, and raised his languid head;
Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,
So I knew that he was dead.
**************************************
I was always busy.
I listened to you with half of my ears.
I never took you seriously
In your sorrows.
I laughed at you.
Your sadness seemed like a joke to me.
Your sickness a luxurious modern disease.
I forget to answer your letters.
I let your texts besides.
Until you are gone.
For real.
Now I believe you.
A bit too late.