Histoire de mai :
M. is dead. It’s been two years and yet I’m still wearing my wedding ring. I preserve our love from becoming a simple souvenir wearing this ring, keeping our pictures on the wall. And if someone asks the question, single or married, I don’t hesitate: I’m a married woman.
That is partly why I’m not at ease with single men who are a powerful threat: they could shake this brittle altar I have managed to build with the elusive relics of our love mixed with the large blocks of rock drawn from my mourning.
However, I dread the gentleman, I don’t mind the seducer. It might seem paradoxical. In fact, I don’t dread all kinds of men. I dread the ones I might like. I fear myself, not them. And I’ve never been attracted by seducers. I’ve always liked men like M., a bit shy, a bit awkward. So I dread the gentleman I might be tempted by, not the seducer, who is just pleasant to listen to, always a little too exaggerated, a little too ridiculous to be really menacing.
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