Jean-Louis Bouzou – Text Bubbles

Would you truly welcome a world where everyone mirrored one another, where everything drifted toward uniformity, where all was dictated and corrected according to the whims of a select few?… In order to have, would you give up being? No?! What I saw in you when we first met—the very thing that changed me—you have forgotten, tucked away with your childhood in the attic of your life… Cast off your masks and your armor! Set yourself free! Become again who you truly are beneath all those layers of social convention… Let your branches and leaves grow wherever they wish… Rise toward the light—you have no need of a stake to hold you up… Roar, let your claws grow! Rediscover your words and your vivid colors! Be yourself. Love yourself.

It’s been three years since I last set foot in a train station. I, the nomad, have taken root. Naturally curious, I enjoy studying the characters that inhabit certain public places. Y et here, nothing has really changed: though the faces are different, I recognize them all. .   * * *   Sitting on a large duffel bag, leaning against a wall—there’s the student. He mutters to himself, eyes fixed on a thick blue binder, and despite all the noise filling the station, nothing could tear him away at this hour from his studies. A little further off, I spot a family waiting to greet one of their relatives. The father and mother chat together, glancing every five minutes at the clock. The children play, dart between their legs, circle around them, tap each other shouting, “Tag!” then burst into laughter; they bring into this hall the fresh, colorful breeze of youth. The father looks impatient, but on his face I can read a certain joy; he seems to be holding back a smile. As ...

In my childhood bedroom, now turned into a catch-all storage room, I gaze at this enormous army backpack—found at a flea market—which will soon become both my inseparable companion and my only refuge… It is high time for me to leave this society behind. Even with my now minimalist needs, I know that despite its imposing size, it won’t be able to hold everything I wish to take with me… No matter. I’m certain that providence will provide for all I need—just as it already does today… This backpack will be my rediscovered freedom, my homeland, my church, and the culmination of a long and beautiful journey I never imagined I’d travel so far. And perhaps, as the days go by, it will become a bag of dreams, a bag of adventures… in which I’ll gather sunrises and sunsets, birdsong, the joy of walking through undergrowth, and along ridgelines, sunrays on my skin, the wind tousling my hair, the sound of rushing streams, the scent of campfires, the taste of pilgrim cakes cooked with herbs from th...

It took me a long time to truly understand this love; it is complete, embracing all forms of love in this world: we can be, for each other, just as much father and daughter, son and mother, brother and sister, friends, as well as lovers… Its intensity echoes the shivers that ran through my body from toe to head when we first met… This love is agape…

Neither past nor future completely free— a feather in the wind of the Universe.

Conversing with words that smile building bridges or ships that set sail from our sunlit islands— merely to discover each other's landscapes.

Falling out of love is a terrible thing… In the whirlwind of discovery and passion, we shape the other in the image of our dreams and desires. Then time forces them to reclaim their true place… The lines blur, distort, shatter… the colors fade… For a while, we try to adapt, convincing ourselves that their flaws are charming, amusing, endearing quirks. But slowly, the ‘us’ fades, and the ‘I’ regains its strength… The mind takes over, eclipsing the heart. The children we once were become adults again… A phase of tolerance begins—we reason with ourselves, telling ourselves that perfect, everlasting love is just a utopian illusion, that we must accept the little things that bother us and focus on what’s beautiful in them… Positivity, the survival instinct of love, the Then comes the moment when habits take hold. Passive acceptance. Resignation. The other becomes a fixture in our lives, like a piece of furniture… until fatigue and reflection creep in. We begin analyzing everything, qu...