It was bizarre to have Pierrette in the house after Marcel's funeral. It was revolting, the madly amorous smile that graced Madame Gaby's features. It was embarrassing to serve them coffee every morning and to notice the traces of happiness still present on Pierrette's face, the little things I know so well.
It was bizarre, and Madame Gaby obviously thought the same thing, because she threw me out the door despite her daughters' tears. Leaving poor Suzon was sad, pregnant as she was, but frankly I could not stay in that house anymore.
I live now at my sister's home and I constantly ask myself, "What am I going to do now?"
I no longer have a job, I no longer have a love, I have nothing except this view that I see every day through the kitchen window.
Winter will end this year too, as usual.
I love the afternoon light after a gray and rainy day, a light slightly filled with sun rays.
I think constantly: "After the rain, after the winter, the world sighs. The golden light is like a girl in love, very young, she could take anyone by the hand to dance. "
What would she, Pierrette, think of these sentences?
I remember when she came one day, totally unexpected in my quiet and tidy life. She often let me talk, she listened patiently to the deluge of affectionate words that came out of my mouth. I will never say such words to her again. Would I ever be able to say them once more? Who can I tell them to? All those unimportant words, all those thoughts that run through my days, that flow like seconds, right into the past.
There is a void, there is a hole that remains eternally empty in me.
Again without love, I'm cold in this light of early spring.
At the end of the beauty there is nothing but the cold.