Being away from what we’re used to is not an easy task.

Losing our routine. Having to rebuild ourselves. Dealing with failure. Accepting to be forgotten. Making a fresh start. Admitting our mistakes. Starting all over again with a clean and positive slate. Making concessions. Forgetting. Being aware of superfluous. Sorting things out.
Tears will be running down our cheeks. Thoughts will bump into each other.
But in the end, we’ll mostly be thankful for all these changes involved.

On our way to the new world, faces will pass before our eyes. Some will depart from our life, others will come around. Just for a fraction of evening, or for eternity.
It seems to me that people are just as harmful to our well being as vital. And when distance puts its two cents into it, it’s an ocean of misunderstanding that sweeps over our little existence. Whys pile up. Hows defend themselves. Reason takes off. And then comes the blues on its beautiful white horse.
Few are the connections I kept with my so close past. By choice or obligation, I sometimes feel so far away from those who are so dear to me. Words come back to mind, promises, comforting words, and else. This impression it was just empty words.

Present in front of me, I’ll forget the past without shutting it up.
Months at D*l Art*, getaways along with Georgette, poker nights, barbecues, afternoons on the beach or by the pool, cigarettes at bedtime, nights in his arms, family meals, and I Could go on and on and on …

Sometimes, I do have the blues. Blues of you, blues of my last year in France. And then I open up my eyes and take a look to the outside world, set foot outside, breathe the pure air, admire the nature that spreads out as far as the eye can see. And in silence, tears roll down my cheeks, a smile on my face.

I dearly miss you.

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