There’s something truly marvelous about the French politics’ ineptitude.
I realize that I love. I know love. Love. The one they were telling me about… I am experiencing it. I am knowing it now. I didn’t feel it yesterday and who knows what else I will feel in the future. Today I love. My breathe infuses love. My chest is heavy of love. It’s quite a funny feeling. I love. It’s funny to say, too. I have a love like the one ine the books I’ve read. An innocent and universal love. Today it is me, today it is my turn. But I won’t stop loving. I love again and again. Now I am capable of saying it. I can measure it. It’s not absurd. People were right about the feeling of love. Like lovers merging under a tree at night. Like my friend telling me that he is my friend. Like an old photograph of my mom and dad holding each other. The world could be burning, there would still be love. A hidden youth that loves while watching the world burn. There’s love in revolutions, in the force of conviction, in ideas. How long have I been loving ? I love, universally. It is happening. Someone liberated my love, made me see it. It impresses me. I don’t see myself and the life from outside anymore. Those days are long gone now. I am here. I feel everything, sadness, anger. I love that too. It’s one of those moment when you know that what you’re living is so special to be told, that makes you look at the sky smiling to be alive, thinking that life is a gift. When every light is a benediction, an encouragement. When you know what true shared happiness is. Except that I’ve been feeling this since years now. And I feel and I feel and I feel. I cannot stop feeling and loving. Where was I ? It always brings me back to that one moment. Now I am thankful and so filled with love.