One of the most beautiful things about watching a sunset is watching the mango rays disappearing slowly behind thick crimson clouds, as if the sun itself had a specific schedule to adhere to, tuned by an hourglass. As darkness slowly crept upon the dying light, the entire landscape changed; trees went from a glowing granny smith green to a dark and majestic forest tint. The sky was an index of the most beautiful colors that existed: the azure sky faded into a light pink that was then blended with an orange so pure, it looked like it had been peeled off the fruit. I could think of nothing else. Caught in a trance, all I could do was let the sunset play before my eyes like a shakespearian play.

Goosebumps began crawling on my skin like a troop of ants and I pulled my sweater tighter. The quick change of temperature made a shiver run down my spine and soon the cool and crisp mountain air was meandering through the trees and caressing my skin. I felt like the lack of heat carried by the breeze was cleansing my soul, trying to help me redeem myself, as if living in the city all my life had been a sin.

The wind also carried a gentle aroma as it floated through the trees, lifting thin dust from the dirty path of the winding road. Nestled in the coomb at the foot of Mount Sannine, a thin salt-water current slithered through the rocky terrain and the gentle aroma of sea salt wafted up towards me, pulling me deep into memories of days spent at the beach, my skin toasting under the harsh but deliciously hot sun. The scent of the water was amplified by the absence of smell of gasoline and busy lifestyles that I had lived throughout my entire young life.

For that half-hour, nothing else mattered. Nothing except the beauty of which I was a part. It made me realize that peace in your soul is just a sunset away and that cleansing your soul is just as easy as standing there, all pores open, and letting the sights blow your mind, gentile winds caress your skin and distinct aromas take you deep into your memories. It is as though you are leaving the world behind but standing on top of it all at once.

Have I gotten your attention yet? If I haven’t, here’s the fun fact of the day:
Statistically, in Quebec, 1 out of 3 children are from divorced parents. That’s ten out of thirty teenagers in a classroom. My point here being that divorce has become more of a common aspect in youth’s life than cell phones… and we know how popular THOSE are…

Don’t get me wrong – nor am I against divorce nor am I a firm believer in the return of all traditional values. As a lebanese girl born and raised in Montreal, I’ve found a harmonious balance between the importance of keeping touch with certain traditional values and open mindedness and/or tolerance; all in moderation, right? We’re all sharing this planet, so we can’t turn a blind eye to our differences.

Returning to my main point, I think hypocritical is the only adjective that is common in all divorcees. Why? When a couple stands there, in front of friends, family, pets and/or priests, they swear to love each other “for better or for worse”, not “Well… until things get tough… then I wish you well, buy an apartment and regret my marriage forever. Deal? Great. See? We’re getting along already!”

Look, I can relate to the whole whiny mid-life crisis, and I am very aware of the whole questioning about your entire life purpose and all the melodrama and existential questions that follow it, but all I’m saying is that we should change what is dishonest. In time, these vows have lost their value; just like, historically, marriage has lost it’s symbolism. It used to represent lasting love, children… and financial security. Today, married men and woman become the butt of all jokes, encouraging them to believe they are in fact miserable and that the actual lock of the marital status means the death of all freedom.

Uh, hello – if you keep feeding us this BS every time some mediocre stand-up comedian runs out of witty quirks, you can hardly blame people for truly believing their marital status equals the Ultimate Decision. I’m completely against giving ultimatums, because really, with all the stress we have to handle already, who can use one more dangerous, life-altering question? If you didn’t catch the sarcasm in that last sentence, I really think you should reconsider your view of marriage. Permit me to quote Shakespeare in saying “LOVE OR NO LOVE – that is the question.”

That is the question. Shakespeare (and some optimism) is all you really need. If you’re still hesitating… get the hell out of there before it’s too late.

So, a message to all you divorcees-to-be out there…Go, get a divorce, live the new life you seem to be so fond of (x years after you jumped in your potentially permanent life), but while you’re enjoying this freedom, think about how many pretty words you stuttered out in that white gown and/or black tuxedo. I’m an optimist, but I’m also a realist – I’m asking you to spare us the BS also known as Vows and Promises, because they’re as unreal and insignificant as the H1N1 we’ve all been so afraid of. Not that marriage is something to be afraid of – unless you’re still uncertain. If you’re already standing at the altar, having second thoughts… you’re on your own… and so screwed.

A ride. She would ride with him rarely, yet when she did, he’d take special care of her, and he’d make sure she was comfortable and happy. But he didn’t need to make sure of it…he didn’t know, but everytime she was with him, she would smile on the inside and wish the night would never end.

She didn’t show this though. She had a type of protective barrier to her personality, one that is so difficult to break down, nobody had ever seen this hidden part of her soul. She never smiled. She never held herself back, but nothing seemed funny or amusing enough for her complex thoughts. Him, though, he never got bored of her, you see. He had this hidden determination to dig deep inside her and find that locked drawer, and open it. It took time. Patience was the key, and he held himself back many times from telling her he loved her. One night though, it slipped. His lips didn’t say it, his heart screamed it out, and she heard it, like a whisper. It was a quiet night, the occasional sound of crickets and rustling tree leaves flowing through the night like a symphony. I’d like to tell you they were in a romantic place, and she told him she loved him back, but I couldn’t lie. They were, of all places, in his car…the old car. They were parked on the side of a dark road, over-looking the old and abandoned glue factory of the small town.

She was quiet, like all nights. Her brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders in light twirls, her brown eyes fixated on a branch swinging back and forth to the rhythym of the wind. Their breathings were in sync. This happened often, as if their souls were connected, even though, in all appearences, she was disconnected.

“You look beautiful…
-Stop bullshitting me, she replied harshly.”

Any man would have easily backed away from this hoarse comment, driven her home and forgotten her name and number. But not him, he smiled. He kissed her nose.

“Ok, he whispered”

That’s when his heart screamed that he loved her. The night was quiet, and nobody would have heard a thing. But he knew she heard. He knew it because he thought he saw a tiny smile draw itself upon her pink lips. But perhaps he had imagined it.

She refused to be caught in the stereotypical vicious circle that threatened her individuality, though she never made the effort to conserve this unique image of herself. It was an inner power she had never thought to use to her own advantage, though sometimes these advantages just flowed to her and she was too deep in thought to appreciate them. Some people would stick up their nose and call her ungrateful, rudely walk out of her life without any apparent reason…just shallow frustration.
She never cared much for these people, because the very shallowness of their reaons irritated her. Sometimes, though, she felt lonely. It wasn’t a loneliness that could be cured with visits from friends or long walks by his side. It was a deep melancholy carved into her soul, one she could not escape, nor run away from.

At night, her inner fire would ignite. Sometimes, she’d lie in bed…tired, physically exhausted, but unable to put her mind to rest. If the night was cool, she’d wrap a light blanket around her shoulders and compare it’s warmth to his arms. She had a large window in her room, one over-looking the street. Orange city lights drew pools of mango fire on the floor of her room, and sometimes she’d stare. Most of the time though, she’d push open her window and sit on the window-sill, the cool night air flowing through her dark hair in silky waves.

The street was always quiet. The silence had an ominous feel to it, the kind of feeling you get when you’re walking under an unsteady-looking bridge that looks as if it might collapase at any given time.
She’d sit there for long minutes, gazing at the dark, starless night sky, wondering why it was that she was given this life and why she had to always feel an internal struggle. She’d always ask this question, but would brush it away, always wondering who she was talking to. She was sure nobody cared. That’s why she felt alone. Nobody cared enough. She didn’t blame them, though.

“Tout l’monde a leurs propre problemes, ma pitoune, a friend had once told her. P’i i’zont p’o l’temps pour toi. C’est la realite, ma pitoune. Accepte p’i vis-la, ta vie.”

She smiled a little. But not a happy smile. A smile that questioned everything she knew, everything she was. A smile that wondered if the bridge would collapse…or more, if it had already collapsed.

Slowly, he lifted his arm and pointed across the street to the sidewalk, where a dirty-looking pigeon was picking at some seeds on the sidewalk.
They burst out laughing.
“So I’m a pigeon. Okay, not exactly flattering.
-Since when am I flattering?”
He was still grinning. He always was, in fact, as if the tiny smile was printed upon his face.

Realizing this was a rhetorical question, she slowly picked her backpack up from the floor, fought with the zipper, fumbled around a bit, and pulled out a medium-sized red apple. It shone in the slanting bit of sunlight left on this monday afternoon.

She took a small bite of her apple, pensive, her eyes focused on a brown leaf on the gravel.

“So why a bird?”

He shifted into a more comfortable position. They were sitting on a high wall in the park next to the high school, his legs hanging from the side, hers crossed under her.

“Well…you’ve got like a free spirit…and stuff…
She lifted her eyebrows and glared at him.
-And stuff? Uninteresting people say things like “And stuff”. Elaborate. I want to understand why I remind you of the dirtiest pigeon in the city.

He laughed. It warmed her heart.

-Okay, well…you say what’s on your mind, and you don’t back away from things that, you know…scare you. You know? And you’ve got a free spirit, that’s why I said bird. Like you say what you want to say, you do what you have to do, and you…live more than others, I guess.”

She chewed on this for a moment, held her apple out to him. He took it in his right hand, bit into it. He chewed on that for a while.
“Not a very accurate comparison, she said, grinning.

“What makes you think, she asked, that anything scares me?
-I’ve watched horror movies with you, that’s how I know”

She looked at him, smiled. He smiled back. They both laughed. She wondered how much time they spent laughing every day. Probably more than the average person spent in a lifetime. Then, he did something unusual. He put the appple down next to him, and reached his hand out to her face, cupping her chin.

She felt her heart stir restlessly, and she closed her eyes to avoid tears from streaming, provoked by this sudden emotion.

“You’re a bird with broken wings, I think. When I was little I rescued a bird with broken wings. I put a band aid on his wing and fed him until he was strong enough to fly.
I think I can fix you too.”

Then, his hands moved away from her soft skin, and he grabbed the apple again, taking a bite.

The pigeon, lifting it’s bobbing head up to the sky, took one quick leap and began flying towards the sky. The sun had not yet faded away.

“Did you ever realise…that all these people. Each and every one of them…”

He began pointing to random passer-bys on the street, and, embarrassed, she pulled his arm down and urged him to continue.

“They’ve all got a story, you know? Like that girl, in the cafe…maybe she’s overworked. And maybe that guy waiting for the green light down the street just got dumped by his girlfriend…or boyfriend. They’re all going somewhere tonight, and we…we don’t know where, we don’t know what they’ll be doing tonight. But you know what scares me most?”

He made eye contact with her again. This made her arms all prickly. Nervously, she turned towards a lime-green scarf she pretended to be interested in.

“What?” She swallowed loudly. She hoped he hadn’t heard that.

“What’s scary is that…we don’t know what they’re thinking. We can pride ourselves on having individual thoughts and talents, but in the end, we’re just like everyone else, because everyone’s got something and thinks things that make them special. So … we’re just random passer-bys to anyone else looking on. A broken heart doesn’t look so bad when you look at the big picture, does it?

She thought about this for a moment. Everything he had said had made sense…well, almost everything.

-There’s something you’re not getting quite right. A broken heart doesn’t seem so bad when you look at the big picture. But who’s picture? The world’s? or our world? Because…we’re living this life and it’s our world that is the most important.”

After this, they never spoke on the busy streets again. And the irony was, she was no longer afraid that he’d let go of her hand. Because she knew he wouldn’t…and even if he did…a lost girl doesn’t look so bad when you look at the big picture.

His anger was mounting. She saw his flushed cheeks, pinched lips and pained expression collide.
His anger made her frustration even deeper. She was supposed to be the angry one, yet he was spitting lies in her face and expecting a response.

“I know what I’m saying. You had the chance to be with me, for a very long time, and you didn’t even make the tiniest effort to come to me.
-I thought you never expected me to chase you. I told you i’m not one to chase, and you said it was alright, you ‘loved me the way i was’.”

She thought about this for a moment. His pride had seemed appealing at first, she remembered, it had attracted her like a magnet and he had become her ultimate desire. Then, when she needed him, he backed off, never made the first step nor came to talk to her. It’s like if she was always leaning in, and he’d never lean back.

She decided to tell him exactly how she felt, and flush her distressing emotions for the moment.
“What the hell do you want me to tell you? I was tired of running to you always, and having you jerk me around. One day you talk to me, the next you don’t, it’s like if I was a toy to you.”

He didn’t answer. He kept driving, his eyes focused in front of him, his right hand tightly wrapped around the dark leather shift.

She rested her left arm on the back of his neck and caressed the smooth skin there with her fingers. She sighed loudly. His frustration eased, his muscles relaxed a little. He stopped the car on the side of the road, far from any street lamps. They sat there, in the darkness. Finally, he turned to her. She didn’t see him clearly, but she knew his eyes rested upon her. He leaned in close to her face, their eyelashes batted. He kissed her softly, then dug his face in her neck. She held the back of his neck and continued stroking his skin.

“What do you want from me, she whispered in the dark.”

Then, she wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard his deep voice mumble

-I want you.”

fear rolls in circles
like an angry maelstrom
beautiful faces curdle
and oh here they come

tonight…
blood leaks from eyes
axes deep in brain flesh
everything is a lie
angels and demons mesh

nervous twitches develop
headless riders gallop
you don’t know what you haven’t seen
you kind of forget it’s halloween.

You love me like I’m made of brick.

I love you like you’re made of thin glass.

Oh baby, you’re walking on ice, you’re walking on thin ice.

But you don’t know that, you think you’re walking on brick, and that crushing noise you hear are not my bricks, that’s my heart, and you’re walking all over it.

It doesn’t matter, because you can crush, you can crush, but I will love you with broken glass and I will love your thin glass that is in fact a brick.

-the piece of you i ran with

The rain came in heavy this time. I think you had something to do with that…the sky must have known how heavy my heart was. Someone must have known.

Not you. I never kept up with your life. You moved too fast, you spoke too soon, you risked too much. Had I not been more careful, maybe you would have been mine, But you weren’t. And I wasn’t there. Until tonight.

The grass felt cool under my thighs. You sat next to me, and the beauty of the lake might have been impressive if your eyes were drawn to it, and not to me, to my lips.
In that moment, I wanted to choke you for having made me wait so long, for having let me hang so long. I wanted to pound at your chest. But I also wanted to hold you and feel your warm breath in my neck.

What to do with you, with such pure beauty and carelessness? I couldn’t hang on to you, you slipped away ever so quickly. So I sat there and watched you watch me, and for the first time, I knew I’d never have all of you. So I took that little piece and ran with it. Your eyes are still fixated on me, everyday, because that’s what I took. The rest of you is somewhere else, somewhere that doesn’t seem to matter.

I love you. I always will.

you’ve got to meet me on the other side.

i’d live anywhere with you. take me to your lair.
breathe me into you.

the fear of you is overpowering.
but the desire for you is still there.
take me with you, where you will go.

i care about how you make me feel.
i’m walking in a plain, and it’s cold.
the night rolls in and you’re still far away.
i see you, but you don’t want me like i want you.
you want…
you want the tip of me.
the very tip you can touch without extending your arm.

i give it to you tentively.
like i am feeding a lion.
you’ll go on a frenzy soon.
and i’ll be okay with that.
and i’ll tell myself, in a lie, that you love me.

because that’s how you make me feel.

this is how it is, you laid it out for me,
but the shovel in me is digging…
digging for something further than concrete words.

never found anything, no gold.
just brick. cold, hard, brick.
and you stand there.
you’re smirking, you’re happy, that i’m exhausted.

i’m squinting. i don’t want to see that smile.
must be something behind it,
but no.
just cold blood running through our veins.

the difference
is that my cold blood was once warm
and yours
is still.

you ask me questions
and don’t know the answers,
you know my heart is knotted.
between you and flying away.

but you know, if i want to go
that i’ll hold on to you before leaving
and the weight
of all your bullshit
will make us crash.

we die.
it’s a disgusting thing,
it’s a red rose,
but we’ll be together.
and that’s love,
all the same.

I wanted to tell him,
he lied everyday,
but looking in my eyes
and telling me he loved me.

how do you know me?
how do you know who i am?
because of my kiss?
or because you’re the man?

you don’t know what i want
or what i think
you don’t know me, stranger
but damn, can you kiss.

–

The night was dark. Really dark. The street they were driving on was not lit with orange city lamps.

It was quiet…well, almost. Some slow cheesy song was playing on low volume on the radio. Little snowflakes rested on the window her head was leaning on.
He drove quietly, eyes staring at the snowstorm ravaging their surroundings. Damn, was it dark.
She didn’t know how he was seeing in front of him. He didn’t need to. She didn’t know the street, but something told her it was straight…straight, and long.

When he spoke, it ripped the silence apart. Her heart actually leaped. His voice was deep, and it would have been sensual under different circumstances.

“Are you cold?”

She wanted to say yes. She was cold…her fingertips were ice and she was shivering lightly.

“No, she said, wrapping her arms around her like a quilt, I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe her. He leaned over and turned on the heater, and soon hot air began travelling through the air vents.

“Put your hands there, he said slowly, grabbing her left hand and placing it over the air vent
- I told you I wasn’t cold.
-Your hands are freezing…
-Shut up…don’t act like you know how I’m feeling. I told you I was fine.”

He sighed loudly. Too loudly. Quickly, he shut off the heater. For the next couple of minutes, none of them spoke. The darkness hung around them.
Then, looking deeply angered, he hit the brakes, hard enough for her head to hit the window.

“What the fuck?! she yelled, eyes wide open in fright

He didn’t say a word. He stared ahead, both hands making a fist, knuckles white, breathing heavily.

- What the hell is the matter with you? she yelled again. You hurt me!

He replied with sarcasm, but his voice was laced with deep melancoly

- Oh…I hurt you, eh? Well I’m sorry Val…I’m really really sorry I hurt you. But what about how you’re hurting me? does that not matter? or is this all very unimportant to you?”

God, was it dark outside.
She pushed open her door and slammed it shut. She began walking, there, on the street, in the darkness. He got out of the car, screamed at her, his voice barely audible under the rippling sound of the storm.

“Where the hell are you going?

-I’m sick of it! I’m sick of you always pretending like I’m the little faulty one. How about all those fucking lies you spat in my face? How about how much you mean to me, and how much it fucking HURTS when you step on me like I’m nothing?

- BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTHING!

- What?!

-No…No, i didn’t mean that. Val, come back…come back…I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

She was jogging now, tears streaming down her face. Her nose was frozen. Her hands were shaking, and her tears formed little icy crystals on her cheeks. “I’m nothing, I’m nothing” she kept telling herself.

All of a sudden, she felt a force pushing her forward from behind. He had tackled her, and now he was lying on top of her, looking her deep into her eyes. She didn’t feel the snow, she didn’t feel the cold. The only light was of his car, and all she could see was his dark dark eyes glaring into her soul.

- Don’t ever leave me like that again…

- Let me go. I’m sick of it, I’m sick of you.

She struggled under his weight, but he was forcing her down. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel panicked; just a deep desire to leave him.

- It came out wrong…I…you know I love you.

- No, I don’t. I never did, and I never will. I can’t believe I actually thought you were something. Fuck you.

She was crying again now, choking on her own tears.

-Fuck you, she said again, and again.

Her body went limp, she didn’t feel the strength to struggle anymore.
She layed there, head to the side, eyes staring at something that wasn’t there.
His lips were on her neck, and he kissed her smooth skin there, slowly.

She finally managed to push him off her, and she ran as fast as she could.
The road was long…straight and long.

He didn’t see her, and didn’t know where she was…it was dark down there, it had always been. He had never been able to find her, and who she was and tonight wasn’t any different.

He loved her.
But God, was it dark.

J’avais beau lui parler, son regard demeurait vague, incrédule. Comment lui expliquer que sa copine, maintenant une ex-copine, n’avait pas cassé avec lui pour les raisons qu’il pensait? Assis sur mon lit, dans ma chambre, mon meilleur ami et moi nous tenions

la main dans un silence lourd, lourd d’émotions. Une larme coula le long de sa joue plissée d’émoi, et il l’essuya lentement, comme si le temps passait à reculons. Je pris doucement son menton dans ma main, et leva ses yeux vers les miens.

Je le regardai, surprise de me retrouver près des larmes aussi.  La mélancolie qui se lisait dans ses yeux traduit son océan de désarroi, et je dus respirer profondément pour faire fuir la boule qui se formait dans ma gorge :

« Écoute, balbutai-je, incertaine du train de mon récit, ce n’est pas ton look qui l’a poussé à casser. Je…je ne sais pas pourquoi elle aurait fait ça, mais elle…elle ne vaut pas tes larmes! » Je dus terminer ma réflexion avec un cliché stupide parce qu’il venait de se lever, et il se tenait prés de moi, si prés, je sentais son fameux parfum. Son visage se décomposa et il m’étreint longuement, tremblotant, alourdi de tristesse. Puis, il glissa quelque chose dans ma main, s’assit par terre, s’adossant au lit. En ouvrant ma poignée, je retrouvai un collier, brisé en deux, auquel s’accrochait une médaille en argent, les mots « À mon amour » incrustés en or. Je reconnus ce collier…le fameux pendentif qu’il lui avait offert à leur premier anniversaire :
« Elle a à peine eue le temps de le briser et me le donner…ou plutôt, lancé… elle était trop occupée avec lui… »
Je contemplai ses cheveux frisés et passai mes doigts dans sa chevelure brune. Un silence suivit. Je ne dis rien. Il n’y avait rien à dire. Quelques fois le silence entre âmes guérit mieux les blessures que les paroles. Quelque fois, il faut vraiment être là pour nos amis.

Dans une petite école comme Pasteur, nous sommes constamment jugées sur des petits détails de notre personne ou des petites fautes que nous avons commises. Pourquoi lorsque nous sommes dans la salle de bain, et que nous faisons de notre mieux pour nous rendre parfaites, nous regardons la fille à côté de nous, la plus populaire de l’école, la plus belle d’après la plupart des gars, et nous pensons “quelle chanceuse…”. Dans ce moment, nous oublions que cette fille mène aussi une vie, peut-être même plus complexe que la notre, et que peut être elle doit faire face à la vie, sa vie, qui est difficile. Non, en ce moment nous pensons “au moins elle fera face à la vie avec un beau visage comme ça…”. Ah oui, et la fameuse phrase “il faut s’accepter comme on est.” Pff. Je me moque. Même si nous nous acceptons comme nous sommes, la société détourne son regard vers la plus populaire, la plus belle, et nous nous regardons encore une fois notre réflexion, et pensons pour la quatorze millième fois “Peut être si je perdais trois kilos encore…”

Une fille qu’il câline, son bonheur est déjà fade

Elle ne se souvient plus d’un monde sans lui

C’est juste que sa réalité s’en va, elle pâlit, pâlit

Elle veut être avec lui, lui dire à quel point elle l’adore

Est-ce qu’il l’aime? Elle a juste peur d’avoir tort

Elle n’ose pas le regarder droit dans les yeux

Par effroi de se perdre, dans ce regard en feu

Elle perd son esprit, dans son monde passionné

Elle essaie de le suivre, mais elle est trop préoccupée

Par ce gars qui l’a prise, en cœur et âme

Elle veut pas l’admettre, mais c’est elle qu’elle blâme

Chaque jour elle veut lui dire ce qu’elle ressent

Tout cet amour, ce tourbillon d’émotions

Il s’en va bientôt, mais elle a toujours peur

Donc elle se torture et finit toujours en pleurs.