A departure in my life, certainly expected but no less painful, plunged me into contemplation.
I lost my fixed landmark.
My North.
As I was told so well when I was trying to explain why I was so upset, “Ah, in fact, you lost your Proust madeleine!”
It is a magnificent summary of the universe that represented for me, this being of 88 years.
My Madeleine of Proust.
The enchanted part of my childhood …
It had already been fragmented last year at the same time. Yet, my madeleine survived (it’s crazy how we can hang up like that, what remains!)
My madeleine, my north has disappeared from this incarnate world and the doors of childhood have locked on this fact.
Yes, it is natural to lose our ancestors …
Natural and expected.
But no less painful.
Mourning engenders this kind of dreamy atmosphere.
We do not have the urge to continue painting, or to cook.
We drop what is not really important. Like the internet.
In this world at 100km / h we stop everything. And in addition we have the right (very rare !!!)
Pause.
Pause.
What’s going on there?
Nothing.
Just a thirty-year-old who began to see the fragmentation of her universe.
A little bit here.
A little bit there.
And suddenly, we lose a little more.
We lose an instrument of survival. A trick that kept going. An island that disappears in the ocean …
And I have evil.
Sea sickness.
“There’s no dock left my poor child! You’ll have to do with it.”
The wharf was swallowed up by nothingness.
Just a bye
