PASSING FOR NORMAL

"La lune est le reve du soleil "

- So why did you come?
- I don’t know, to remember I guess, and to relive some of the old days
- Makes sense. (Knowing him, it didn’t make sense. It would have made even less sense hadn’t they stated the premise of the proposal prior to that conversation).
- Do you remember when we first met?
- Yes. (He went off talking about some details here and there, purposely missing out some images that were still vivid in her mind. It was a kiss she would never forget. The way he positioned the events told her that he remembered very well).
- You still wear the same perfume
- Yes and how do you remember my perfume?
- I don’t know. I just remember I guess.
- That’s flattering. (She knew exactly how he remembered. He had told her once before that his girl wore the same scent. Back then when he mentioned his girl, he didn’t apologize. This time when he mentioned another, he apologized and tried to make it sound less than it is. She knew it was more than that. A woman can sense these things so she kept quiet. She respected that he wanted to leave her with this small homage even when he didn’t have it in him and she wanted to give him the satisfaction even when she didn’t have it in her). It just feels absurd to me that one would inexplicably make an effort to revive a little memory that was awkward to begin with.
- I suppose that’s true
- I suppose
- I don’t like your hair that way. (She thought that her hair was not his to like or dislike but she kept quiet. She understood his sweet attempt to make her think he fancied a grade of weight and importance on her appearance or in her life. It was sweet. It went in concert with the make believe instances of intimacy and romance that crossed her mind and that crossed their pseudo-friendship over the years).
- It will grow. (If only he knew he should relax and stop nervously trying to amend something that didn’t need to be justified. In him, she saw a dear face from the past. After years of longing to the past and to the home, she was glad with encountering any memory- revoking face, even when the less pleasant memories follow). There’s that thing again.
- Yes. A shark not a dolphin
- Oh. (She remembers very well the conversation this was in reference to in the isolated part of the house but she kept quiet. She then listened as he was talking about his work. She saw his face lighting up with passion. She almost felt proud of him but it wasn’t her place to be so she kept quiet). You leave soon?

He stayed for hours and left..
Their green bench was now some bar stools
Some tossed towels and some empty dishes
For moments they had the memories
For moments they were calm in each other’s arms
Even when they were worlds apart
Like they always were before
Like they will always be…
Like the moon and the sun
For he was the son of the morning rays
And she was the daughter of the moon
It was in her name
That he won’t pronounce…

I think any artistic attempt we make has to categorize either as realistic or romantic and I think that we are blessed in an instance when art losely relates to life.

(Picture: courtesy of Wilfrid Hoffacker, journal photgraphique, le monde)