Parfois, quand je n’arrive pas à dormir, des histoires se manifestent. Je les appelle « des bouts de rêve » ou « des histoires de minuit » Ces histoires imposent leur propre langue et je ne les résiste jamais… Parfois, elles devient des films
Voici un premier partage illustré par des photos prises à Berlin lors de ma visite l’année dernière
Enjoy :)
Berlin calling
We met at a bar
I didn’t feel like it and I said so but she insisted.
I didn’t want go.
She was no longer a friend.
She used to be… but not anymore and I’ve never understood how this happened.
No reasons. She wouldn’t say even when I tried to talk to her about it. I insisted many times and many times she remained silent.
Sometimes she became so sad and rude. She would disappear without saying anything.
I tried to call her and when I couldn’t reach her, I would call him without success.
He would say that sometimes she was « special »
Special? Like « how special »?
So one day, I got this new job and I decided to leave.
I never saw her again.
Today she called me and asked me to meet her here at Kreuzberg.
When I arrived, she was already there sipping her coffee. I approached and sat in front of her. I didn’t even take my coat off because as I said, I didn’t want to be there so I was already thinking about leaving when I arrived. But, if I must say, I was curious … Why? Why now?
She seemed uncomfortable and ordered for me. "Black coffee right?" she smiled.
She remembered…
Then she started the small talk, you know : weather, traffic, town… how is your new job? she asked
"Not new anymore," I said… It’s been 5 years…
"Right… Sorry… How do you like it? Do you think you would ever come back to France ?"
Suddenly she had so much to talk about it…
I answered, "yes… no… whatever…" I didn’t want to give her any information. I wasn’t unkind but I wasn’t generous either…
Then she paused and became serious. She put down her coffee, reached for my hand and I thought I heard her say she was sorry… She may felt I was confused, so she went on and repeated "I’m sorry".
I tried to organised my head. She came here by herself for the weekend and I thought she just want to have a little chat, get a selfie at the Brandenburg gate, visit the Berlin Cathedral and the East side gallery, shop around, eat eat curry wurst and drink some beer…
But here she is , in front of me and she’s saying sorry.
Five years…
I can’t explain but that apology reached deep down into my body to a place that rancour had conquered.
I was shocked, I didn’t even know that it was that important. So I just forgave her. I didn’t care anymore.
We finished our coffee, paid, and then we left.
It was raining, of course. We doubled kissed good bye under our umbrellas.
As I walk back to my flat I abandoned myself to a new feeling, it felt so powerful.
I was free.
Laura Lago© Tous droits réservés- 2020
Special Thanks to Carmen Thompson for her reading
Laura Lago est née à Buenos Aires en Argentine.
Artiste pluridisciplinaire, elle a parcouru le monde avant de s’installer à Paris en 2000 engagée en tant que danseuse par le Moulin Rouge. Se succèderont dix années de carrière au Lido de Paris. Installée à Paris depuis 20 ans, elle est auteur photographe, comédienne chanteuse et enseigne la danse et le Pilates.
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