Yesterday, attempting to work, listening to Gainsbourg… “Yesterday” passes on… I remember. ‘Madame Claude’, the movie, and the song becomes serious, probably tender?!
Madame Claude, last scene, in jardins de Tuileries, coming out of the turmoil, alone again, tucking in the photographs, picking up the pieces…
Yesterday, like any day… The sun went down without me; suddenly someone else has touched my shadow…
What did you do without me? Why are you crying alone on your shadow? I know. The sun went down without you…
Because they all live without it, without making love in the shadows; today, I know.
Work. I should put in another hour.
But then, L’herbe tendre passes on… I remember. Childhood, Beirut, innocence, first loves…
D’avoir vecu le cue dans l’herbe tendre, et d’avoir su m’etendre quands j’etais amoureux… en gardant le coeur tender le long des jours heureux… S’avoir se fendre de quelques baisers tendres sous un coin de ciel blue.
And they laugh, and I laugh… with nostalgia, with melancholie.
Such happiness when I love the past… such tenderness… simple warmth.
Why do we often love life only after it goes by?
11 comments:
human nature.
Which part you mean?
For happiness, no. some people know it as they see it. and they are out there running wild among us.
i meant the last sentence.i'm so sleepy :(
Insomnia again?
chateaubriand, happiness only exists in our memories. an illusion of a perfect image that did not really take place. we love life after it's over.
Well, not after totally over... I do it in small increments.
you, my friend, are never happy..
Ecstatic actually. what do you know.
(dripping poison)
Drip
Drip
Drip
I don't care much about the past. I remember very little of its happiness. Only those very intense moments linger on. And yet, sometimes, just standing outside, doing no more than filling my lungs with semi-clean suburban air, I feel so happy as to border on naivete...
You are lucky fouad.
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