I Remember - 9

 

I remember that after the wedding, I thought about you more and more… blaming myself for my pride and ego… telling myself that if I didn’t try to reconnect with you, I’d regret it forever.

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I remember that I, someone who hated running, started jogging every evening by the sea… It became a kind of active meditation. At first, I ran less than I walked. Gradually, I built up considerable endurance.

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I remember that during those evening runs, I loved feeling the cold, salty wind, mixed with the call of seagulls, and passing by Fort-Bloqué, which I hoped to paint someday.

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I remember that in that sublime aura of solitude, I felt nostalgic for all the moments we had spent together.

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I remember that the neighbors didn’t appreciate me hanging my laundry out on the terrace… Once again, I realized how much appearances rule this world.

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I remember I would occasionally buy old ceramic pots from a small second-hand store to hold my brushes, pencils, and pens. Sometimes, I used these pots along with other antique objects as models for painting still lifes.

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I remember torturing myself by wondering if you were thinking of me too.

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I remember finally realizing that what I felt for you was love. At the same time, I couldn’t understand why someone like you—whom I had spent so little time with—had taken up so much space in my heart.

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I remember regularly checking my Minitel terminal to see if you had moved out of your parents’ house and rented an apartment.

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I remember participating in a group exhibition of painters for the first time. There were paintings covering every wall—it was total chaos. At that moment, I told myself it would be the first and last time I would ever participate in a group exhibition.

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I remember sometimes wondering if I was suffering from a mental illness. Thankfully, the fact that I had never experienced anything like this before meeting you reassured me about my mental health.