I found myself for the first time alone in Paris, in the summer. Not even well in my solitude… And it was at the turn of a hyper evening – got off to a bad start that I met him. A sublime guy, with an impossible look. I immediately said to the friend who was accompanying me: ‘It’s him.’
We chatted all evening, but were probably too moved to manage to come up with something intelligent… Then we parted ways without even exchanging our phone numbers. I kissed him on the neck anyway, then I left. But when I realized what I had just done, I ran back. He was still there, came right up to me, and said, ‘I was realizing I just did the bullshit of my life…’ And the possible love, over time. But he will remain my most beautiful love story.”
In a Month, We Went Through Everything Together
In the early morning, we found ourselves, exhausted, walking in the streets. Without knowing where. We ended up at my place, without even kissing. We ate pasta and then, exhausted, we went to lie down. And that moment I will never forget. He asked me to undress and then looked at me without flinching from head to toe. A look that should have terrified me, who am rather modest and tortured. But, on the contrary, he gave me confidence in myself. No one has ever looked at me that way… Finally, I spent the afternoon of my life. I had never made love like that. As if we were two puzzle pieces made to fit together. And we never let go.
We experienced everything together in a month, including being without water. We washed each other with gloves, in the kitchen, he was washing my hair. But we never talked about the future. As if we knew in advance that our history had none. As if naturally it should end, as it had begun.
And that’s what happened. He tiptoed away. And sent me a sublime breakup letter: five pages, my most beautiful love letter. He talks about me, about us, and explains to me that he is afraid to love and that he feels incapable of it. That he doesn’t want things to crumble between us. Basically, ‘I love you therefore I leave you’. It killed me but I accepted. It was part of the character, tortured, wild, elusive. I have since met an accessible man, a ‘couple guy’ with whom life is sweet.
Sandra, 30: “He killed Something in Me”
“It all started six months earlier, on iTunes. About a brand-new rock band, a friend advised me, “You have to listen to them.”I had listened. I loved it and listened to it over and over for an entire weekend. So six months later, I’m joining some friends at a rock party dragging my feet. Tired, badly dressed, uncoordinated underwear… We talk, we smoke, and I’m introduced to other friends. And then, suddenly, the blow to the heart.
A handsome guy as evidence. Just for me. The thing that ties your stomach and takes your breath away: you can’t speak anymore, you look away… Except that he did, I had the impression that he hadn’t even seen me.
He goes his way, the evening takes its course. But two hours later, while I was concentrating on the stage, sipping a Perrier, here is the apparition approaches me, and asks me if I work in music. Not really, no… Him, yes. He is part of a small rock band not very well known. Ah good? I could have guessed, it was the guitarist of the famous group that had stuck with me six months earlier. I tell him.
We finally look at each other, butterflies in our eyes. ‘We have to see each other again…’ And there my antennae alert me: ‘Attention flirty, you didn’t come here to make you break your heart!’ But he continues: ‘Just now, I had a stroke in the heart, a huge thing like I haven’t felt for a long time. No, don’t take me for a madman…’ Me I succumb, clinging to my last resources: ‘You asshole rocker, you won’t get me like that, with your flirt with two bullets …’ I leave him a fake mobile number and go blushing in a corner.
I’m Still Not Cured, Eight Months Later
An hour later, when I had found my friends, he reappears and asks me what I do next. Till 2:30 in the morning, he must mix. OK, message received. I’m exhausted, but I’m clearly saying to myself, ‘If you don’t stay, you lose it. And if you stay, you get lost…’ I opt for the second solution.
It’s crazy what two strangers can have to say to each other. We spent the night from bar to bar, among drunkards and wandering souls, as if the world belonged to us. We talked, and we kissed. We couldn’t take each other off. At dawn, we told each other that we couldn’t leave each other there. ‘Do you think it’s going too fast if we go to my house?’ he asked me. ‘Anyway, it’s going too fast… Of course, we’re going to your place.’
We listened to music, drank herbal tea, and made love like crazy. Without restraint, as if our bodies were finally telling each other everything they had always been holding back. It was good, it was beautiful. We slept in each other’s arms, taped…
It was a love story that I had just experienced, exploded in full flight. Something of extraordinary violence from which I am still not cured, eight months later.
