One of my biggest and most long-standing fantasies concerning when and if I ever fall in love centers around knowing another language.
The way I always picture it, we would be at a cocktail party or dinner with extended family, perhaps even a crowded art gallery or show and she�so beautiful and perfect�would lean in and whisper something from another language in my ear.
In French. It's almost always in French.
I would then laugh at the little secret that she whispered and respond back in the same language.
And in this way, we would have inside-jokes and could tell secrets openly in front of everyone.
We wouldn't do it all the time, of course. We don't want to be assholes. We would do it just enough for us to always be slightly intimate; for us to always have a tight bond.
It would also be a good way to say "this is boring, we should leave" without offending anyone.
I don't know if I am doing this fantasy justice right now. I am in a lot of pain and that is always distracting.
But that's probably why I am clinging so much on this particular day-dream: because someday, I would love to be having a day like this and turn to her and say,
"Je ne me sens pas bien, l'amant."
And she would smile her perfect smile and hold me close to her and respond,
"Que amon amour te gu�rir."
And just the thought of that possibility makes me feel better already.
4:05 p.m. - 2012-11-03
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