soleil la fleur

Il faut rire avant que d'être heureux, de peur d'avoir vécu sans avoir ri.
— 

La Bruyère…

c’est à cause de phrases comme celle-là que La Bruyère est mon sensei, mon yoda à moi. En gros, les conditions du bonheur ne sont jamais réunies, ne sont jamais parfaitement assemblées, toujours il y a quelque chose qui manque ou qui déconne un peu, vient gâcher un peu le tableau et la sagesse (au sens de La Bruyère) consiste à ne pas attendre que tout soit nickel pour jouir de la vie, se réjouir avec d’autres. Voilà. le bonheur comme idéal, la joie comme mode de vie. 

Half asleep, she shuffles over to his side and slots herself under his arm, just as he goes to slip his coat on, and he pauses for her. Her steps are heavy and ungraceful. As she slowly ages, those little creases by her lips and around her eyes become more prominent, proof that she was and always will be a jovial, but beautiful woman. She is exhausted. And there is a bump on her stomach that separates them – but in so many ways it brings them closer. Their child fills the gap.

His fingers slide through the curls that spill over her shoulders and down her back, and he caresses the back of her head. He is proud of her. And by God, he loves her to the point of madness. The most pleasant thing was that such a love was requited by her.

As her delicate hands rest over his chest, he plants a kiss to her forehead, and she shuts her eyes. There is a whisper, and it is soft and sweet.

“Mon amour.”

For Monicakes, my sweetheart forever ; v ;

Happy birthday, querida mia <3