When I read these previous posts, it hits me all over again. How much I love(d) you, how much you mattered, the extent to which you exploded life and color into my world. How much I craved you, irrationally, completely. Tomber follement amoureuse, comme ils disent. Sometimes, I don’t even remember the memories, just the feelings. So pure. So intense. You revolutionized my life, blazing and raging. Then you died. Somewhere in between, you stopped believing in you, in the world, in your family and finally, in me. You were so scared and I was defenseless to safe and protect you. I couldn’t appease or calm you. Then I started to spiral. You were my rock, my landmark, my home, my everything. And you slipped out of reach. You died for me that 29th of January 2020. I’m not overreacting. The man I loved gave up, on me, on us, and the soul that was intertwined with mine disappeared. I lost myself in that moment. Vanished. I lost the love of my life and my dad in an 11 month interval. Everything I had worked for was for you, me and us. Our common dreams and aspirations. And today, honestly, I don’t care how you felt or why. You ripped my world to shreds knowingly. But deep down, from day one, I always knew you were loving me with an expiration date. But I never thought that you would be the one to morph and disappear. The ghost of yourselves past spent the last six months with me, you were already gone, already died. You died. Your soul gave up. You still walk, breath and exist, but just the shell. A meager whisper of who you were. I think leaving my was your last act of kindness. I réalise that now. You knew you were dying inside and you preferred to push me away, let me go, before it got worst. Losing yourself was a matter of fact, loosing me was a choice. Deep down, your inner core loved me too much to drag me with you. The sad thing is that I disagree. I admire the width of your good intentions and, ultimately cowardice. But that’s who you are now. I loved a happy fighter with ideals and goals. I was left by an empty soul with no aim. You wanted to protect me from more unhappiness. I understand but will never accept. We weren’t compatible because you actively chose not be and I was not strong enough to be myself around you. See, I had spent 7 years scared of living without you, I would have accepted anything. My mistake. I would have been stronger, more affirmed, more aware, our story would have been different. Because we were in love. The real kind you only meet in a lifetime. We were so consumed and in tuned with each other. Until you chose to turn the other cheek. Until I gave up my standards. But fucks sake. I miss the boy I fell in love with at 18. Who made me fall in love with his dimples and the lights of Paris. Who brought me out of my shell. Who’s eyes sparkled and shone. My favorite person to disagree with. The political, religious, historical debates, the wonderful travels, the crazy laughs in the shower at 2am when we have to wake up at 8. The person who would put a hot towel on my face before going to work to soothe my nerves. My knickers and heart would bounce into my throat when I glimpsed you at the end of the street. The costumes, the parties, the liberated sex life… this is what I choose to remember. I love(d) you so much, I almost forget your flaws. I was so in love they didn’t matter. You can’t reason with feelings. You let me down and disappointed me everytime it mattered. You were young and I was naive. We didn’t know any better and you still don’t. I still dream that I will cross your glance in the metro, in a crowded city square. And it will click, naturally, finally. You’ll have grown up and wisened, I will have calmed down and be realist, and we would know that we get a real shot. I am in love with an ideal of the you I used to know and cherish. Thank you for loving me, even you couldn’t do it right. Thank you for being the most wonderful person on my life for 7 years. Tu seras à jamais mon amour de jeunesse, l’amour libre et heureuse de mes vingt ans. Je t’aime(ais) mon choux, mon absolue.
