all began the day she would not tell him she loved him.
The words refused to cross the barrier of his lips. It seemed that in making these soft syllables - jeetttèèèmmmmm - it would disturb a fragile order and precious, the sound of his confession would sound like an indecency, an easy excuse for a compromise to sentimentality room.
Certainly, it did not say a thing. "I love you" ; As it sounded bad! Small, petty, narrow, opposite the maelstrom that seemed real live!
She could not yet explain the reasons for his refusal - and were they not obvious? Why explain what is obvious? Why report what appears to oneself?
He dived into his eyes pint white, he was troubled by his refusal? She was not certain at the time. He smiled vaguely, and they parted as usual with a long wet kiss and a little sticky.
She later blamed himself for a brief moment it appeared to him now as a whim and a little wave of remorse came to occupy his mind, quickly chased away by the prospect of a long afternoon working in sweltering heat. The words were just words.
The same evening, she realized that something had changed. The look he wore on her, ironically, a little surprised too, seemed to discover for the first time. They dined in silence, worked, went to bed. He did not, when to turn off the light, the familiar gesture of him to discover the buttocks to stroke and she dared not ask, and slept a little difficulty.
The next day he left it earlier. At 7 o'clock he came kiss her fingertips, and awoke, she feigned to go to sleep, to better enjoy the soft, warm kisses that ran over his skin like light insect, she half opened my eyes to see, but not enough for that he realized his little trick and it still had the same look as the day before, and she closed her eyes, a little worried.
Days followed days and resembled one another, strangely. In the morning, a few light kisses in a half-sleep. In the evening, they met, exchanged a few commonplaces, worked, slept. After one week, she realized they were no longer love. It
it opened to him, was irritated a little. He said nothing, always with the same smile a bit bitter, a bit distant. She cried, screamed, ranted.
Then, slowly, in a voice so hushed it was straining to grasp the inflections, he asked him to utter those same three words. A
vertigo seized. He looked so close, so strange, so terrible now, and she felt invaded by insurmountable weakness. It was so easy, it was enough to spread her lips and articulate.
She opened her mouth, closed it. No sound came. She held out her arms, pitiful, imploring. She remained well, open hands, tears streaming down her cheeks, long after he had closed the door behind him.
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