Just like we promised
À Mark,
Dans le tourbillon incessant de la vie, où chaque instant est un fil dans le tissu complexe de notre existence, nous nous trouvons souvent égarés dans les courants du changement. Ces courants nous ont façonnés, transformés, et parfois même éloignés l'un de l'autre. Pourtant, au cœur de ce flux perpétuel, nos souvenirs partagés et nos promesses demeurent, des phares inébranlables dans la brume du temps.
Notre histoire, Mark, est un récit toujours en cours d'écriture, une symphonie inachevée de moments et de mémoires. Nos chemins se sont croisés, se sont éloignés, puis se sont à nouveau entrelacés, un ballet de destinées qui nous a menés ici, à ce chapitre de notre vie.
Cinq années se sont écoulées, et maintenant, je te regarde, assis sur le canapé, jouant avec Anastasia, la préparant tendrement pour le sommeil. Ton sourire, empreint d'une chaleur véritable, brille dans la douce lumière du soir – un contraste frappant avec celui, autrefois forcé, dont la raison m'échappe encore. Ce sourire, authentique et plein d'amour, me rappelle la profondeur et la sincérité de ce que nous avons reconstruit ensemble.
Chaque jour passé, chaque épreuve surmontée, chaque joie partagée, a tissé la trame de notre histoire commune – une histoire marquée par la résilience, l'amour et la transformation. Nos vies, intimement liées, racontent une saga d'amour, de croissance et de renaissance.
Ce soir, alors que je t'observe avec notre fille, je suis envahie par une gratitude immense. La vie nous a offert une seconde chance, une opportunité de redécouvrir et de réaffirmer l'amour que nous partageons. Dans le silence apaisant de notre foyer, je réalise combien notre voyage ensemble est précieux et unique.
À toi, Mark, mon compagnon de vie, mon confident, mon ami. Notre amour, une constante à travers les tempêtes de la vie, est le socle sur lequel nous avons bâti notre présent et notre avenir.
Pour toujours et à jamais, dans chaque univers et dans chaque ligne temporelle, je t'aime, Mark, et je suis heureuse de pouvoir t'appeler mon mari.
Avec tout mon amour,
Alexander.
The moment I glimpsed you, nestled behind towering stacks of paperwork in the chaotic embrace of your office, a curious sensation stirred within me. Shadows played across the cluttered desk as the relentless ring of your phone punctuated the air, a discordant symphony to your rhythmic signing of documents. Was it a spark of love igniting at first sight, or a wistful melancholy seeping into my soul?
Years had lapsed into decades since our last encounter, and time had sculpted you anew. There you were, a mature man, your shoulders bearing the weight of youthful worries in a world indifferent to your struggles. As you concluded your task and surrendered to the insistent call, your voice unfurled into the room - smooth as velvet, warm as a glowing ember, sweet as the richest honey. But in that voice, I heard a stranger, not the person I once knew.
Peering through the translucent barrier of the glass doors, my gaze found you, yet perceived a stranger. A tide of uncertainty swelled in my chest—had I mistaken you for another? Could I confuse you, the one whose eyes once soothed the fiercest tempests, with someone else? The one who wore the remnants of youthful trials like badges of honor—could such a soul be so easily mistaken? What began as a mundane errand, delivering documents to this local office, unexpectedly plunged me into introspection.
There, I witnessed your smile during the call, a gesture devoid of its genuine essence. It was a masquerade, a hollow imitation. In that moment, I realized the stark truth: the person before me bore your visage, but he was not You, the one I remembered.
Rooted in the doorway, a statue of indecision, I lingered, watching you, a silent observer waiting for the moment you would conclude your call. Yet, within me, a restless current urged me forward, propelled by an invisible force. You remained oblivious to my presence, your focus divided between the relentless scribbling on the documents before you and the conversation on the phone, all under the guise of that insincere smile. A question echoed in my mind, piercing the quietude of my confusion: Who was the target of your deception?
Was it me, a mere spectator to this uncharacteristic charade? Or was the performance tailored for the unseen participant on the other end of the line?
As the call drew to a close, you finally lifted your gaze. Your eyes, once brimming with life, now seemed hollow, devoid of the spark that once defined you. They met mine, yet it felt as though you were looking through me, into a void. In that moment, a poignant realization dawned upon me: the person before me was a far cry from the You I had once known.
Time, the relentless sculptor, alters us all, but with you, it was different. It wasn’t merely the passage of years that had reshaped you; it was something more profound, more elusive. You hadn’t simply been changed by time; you had been transformed by experiences unknown to me, experiences that had extinguished the light in your eyes and replaced it with an unfamiliar, distant gaze. The You I remembered seemed lost, perhaps forever, in the labyrinth of life’s unrelenting twists and turns.
Your voice broke the silence, inquiring my name, and I obliged, offering it to you like a relic from our shared past. You paused, a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing your face as you glanced at my document. A chuckle escaped your lips, tinged with disbelief or perhaps irony. Was it so hard for you to believe that I was the same person from your memories?
“I’m sorry, you have the same name and surname as an old friend,” you remarked, your words slicing through the air, laden with a casual dismissal. Those words lingered, heavy with implications. To you, was I merely an echo of a past connection, relegated to the realm of ‘just an old friend’? The simplicity of your statement belied the complexity of emotions it stirred within me, a poignant reminder of the distance that time and change had wedged between us.
Your words, seemingly innocuous, stung with an unintended insult. Indeed, I had transformed, no longer the carefree young girl who once frolicked alongside you in the park, who scaled trees with the fearless abandon of youth, who gleefully accepted oranges from the kindly old lady at number 32. Those days, imbued with innocence and laughter, seemed like fragments of another lifetime.
Was it my metamorphosis that rendered me unrecognizable to you, or was it your own profound change, morphing into a mere shell of the person I once knew? I grappled with these thoughts, a blend of indignation and sadness swirling within me. Change is the only constant, they say, yet the divergence of our paths had led us to this poignant juncture—a place where familiarity was overshadowed by the unfamiliarity of what we had become.
“Well,” I began, my voice steady as I endeavored to mask the turbulence within, “I did change a lot, so I guess you wouldn’t recognize me.”
As those words escaped my lips, a gentle smile graced your face, seemingly brushing aside the gravity of my admission. You continued with your task, your hand moving with practiced ease as you signed off on the document. But then, as you were about to add your final signature, I noticed a moment of hesitation. You clicked your pen twice, a nervous tic that time hadn’t erased. Some habits, it seems, are impervious to the ravages of years.
Your eyes, magnified behind the lenses of square glasses, finally met mine with a depth that was unmistakably familiar. It was a gaze that transported me back in time, to the boy I once knew, the boy who had remained etched in the recesses of my memory. In that fleeting exchange, the years seemed to peel away, revealing a glimpse of the past that still lived within you.
As my name resonated through the air, your voice breaking the office’s everyday hum, it felt like a crack in the universe. You didn’t just say it; you declared it, with a fervor that turned heads throughout the administration. The desk that had served as your fortress was no barrier for you now. You leaped over it, a sudden burst of emotion propelling you forward.
Your embrace enveloped me, a tangible memory, heavy yet comforting. It was like being wrapped in a blanket woven from nostalgia, but this nostalgia bore a bittersweet edge—tinged with pain and sorrow, rather than pure, blissful happiness. In that moment, reintroducing myself seemed the most natural thing to do, a bridge across the chasm of years and changes.
As I stood there, encased in your arms, I couldn’t help but wonder about the paths not taken. If I hadn’t spoken up, would I have turned and walked away, leaving behind another memory devoid of a proper farewell? Would I have returned to a city that once echoed with our laughter, now just a cold canvas against which our past played out?
In my contemplation, I thought of the multiverse, a tapestry of endless possibilities. In that vast expanse of ‘what ifs,’ I found a comforting thought. Perhaps, in every reality woven into that infinite tapestry, there is a version of us, an Alex and a Mark, forever finding their way back to each other, no matter the distance or the changes that life brings. In every universe, every story, every possibility, I hoped that our counterparts would always find their way home—to each other.