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Fly Sorrow

Yesterday, I had to turn around because part of me was left stranded, hanging on a piece of blue cloud.


I hadn't seen her dissociate herself. I noticed this because of a notable lack of enthusiasm. So I retraced my steps.

I found him in tears, refusing to let go of his dream rag, which is definitely unusable today. She cried on my shoulder for a while, stammering "I believed", "I wanted so much", and so on. All these useless words which do not change anything to plow in the void, and which make one stay put. Stuck.

I took the time to tell him yes, me too, of course. And that if I had been given the script to write, I would certainly have chosen another ending. But now, I was not asked. Or not directly.

I spent Sunday patting him on the back, describing a singing tomorrow. She only listened with one ear, sniffing into my neck. I shook him a little at times - annoyed me by force - but his grief was so obvious that I did not have the heart to kick his buttocks.


So I accompanied him as best I could, listening without enthusiasm to tell me his memories of him. His words. His looks. Their laughter. All that that was promised. Then the black hole. The incomprehensible.

I didn't even try to tell her that she was doing herself more harm than good. At the point where she was. So I let her run through her field of tears as much as she wanted.

She reminded me of those flies that sometimes fall in the cup of tea that I leave around everywhere. I fish them out, wings at half-mast, bloodless. I gently removed them then breathe them gently on their backs, to facilitate their healing. They remain inert on my hand for a moment, then they conscientiously reviewed for a few moments to test their ability to fly. Finally, thanking me with a fly smile, they resume their carefree journey.


This morning, if she wasn't really ready yet, she looked a little better. She had dry eyes and told me her heart was too. That's what we always say in this case. I am silent. I know she was born to love.

For now, she has fallen asleep. After everything she cried yesterday, it's okay. I walk with soft steps as in the house of a sick person. To wake her up too quickly would be to risk rekindling her pain.

So I go about in silence while waiting for the smile that will mark his return to the world.
And his next flight.
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