Bad relationships – I’m the lover s happy like this. Or not?

“For this reason most people remain married even in conditions of extreme discontent. Because so much is the same.”

“ I would like to restrain myself but I must also tell you that the management of that one is admirable: not only is it almost as old as dates and if it takes it very young, but it even makes you despair. ”

“And what we call paper ‘and three’ under Vesuvius is also declining. I’m old, forget it, don’t fall in love.”

“People are better in chat, it’s better mostly absent, it’s better not to have them, to desire them.”

In short, I return here, after a year, to tell you what? To tell you that you were right Esther. You were right on all counts. After reading and rereading and consuming your words with my eyes, I put your answer there, among the notes on my iPhone, and in the most terrible and difficult moments I read it, and I cried and laughed all at once, and in the end Damn Esther, you were right.

“You can’t be happy in four, can I?”

This you wrote to me. And this we are doing, we are “being” happy in four.

Of course, two are aware of it, two less… but we are happy. Making everything fit inside a box, taking everything from me, every single tiny tiny infinitesimal moment of happiness: that’s what I want.

To his wife, who had found out everything, he told that no, it was nonsense, a passing thing, that we don’t see each other anymore and that nothing like this will ever happen again. She (blonde streaked, bejeweled, wrapped up in a three-quarter yellow coat with tigers – but what are all kept sixty-year-olds like that?! No, for me to have those possibilities I would live solely and exclusively on Giorgio Armani and blue coats and hair from the dear brown but perfect), poor thing, she believes it (?!) and has started going away a few days now and then to visit her children who live outside – a custom she had interrupted as soon as she smelled the smell of a young female in the surroundings – thus guaranteeing us a bit of respite and moments for the two of us. For my part, I have plugged every possible family leak, every dormant and unexpressed doubt, after a period of upheaval I have calmed waters and souls, I keep my family from Mulino Bianco very close, aware of the deep and brotherly affection I have for my husband.

My therapist, in a slightly raw moment, said to me: C., he will never leave his wife, do you know why? Because you are a beautiful Manolo (Blahnik, ed), in satin, with crystals, 1075 euros spent in the most expensive and exclusive boutique in the city, which makes a crazy ankle and makes you Gorgeous at every dinner party or event you wear it to. But… but you want to wear his wife, a De Fonseca, an old slipper, worn, threadbare and with dots, but soft and comfortable, adherent to his foot because it formed on it… the Manolo after a couple of hours, the euphoria gone and the thrill, well you’d throw it against a wall, and you’re at dinner dreaming of the moment you’ll put on the De Fonsecas.

Shoe factory metaphor aside, I thought, that’s right, and it’s the same for me. Damn, I want it all: I want the thrill of Manolo, passionate, sensual and fictionalized love, I want literature, I want wild and primordial sex, I want the ardors, the sighs, the excruciors – but I also want De Fonseca, I want the comfort, I want the comfort and compliant, warm feeling of home.

And therefore Ester, too many words to tell you that perhaps my square, if it can exist, I think I have found it, without cynicism or coldness which, as far as it is possible to make clear from these few lines, does not belong to me at all.. My way of being in the world and surviving and feeling and breathing without apnea is just that, at the moment.

Thank you, for everything, for every single word, previous and future, as always.

A hug,

c.

Esther Viola’s answer

Esther Purple

Dear C,

Slippers, Manolo Blahnik (but the 90s are over), Armani suits and tiger coats.

So much literature not to get to the question. Let’s be honest here at least, C.

In addition to the guarantees of the lover, you would have even wanted the prerogatives of the cuckolded wife. That is, that he comes home in the evening, home to you. And how many claims, you too.

This story always afflicts me that we females – past thirty, forty and fifty – still need to cling to the sideboard of jams. Does the big “but who cares, still with these stories” never come? That’s why the bastards outrun us everywhere. Little importance to love, first the rest, first them.

In the meantime, how are you doing? Why this beautiful letter if the balance die has already been cast? To be adequate mistress a little infamous one must be, and one must be born there, whoever is not cut out forget it. you, in fact, instead of having fun with amusing horns as god commands, you still seem to me to be in the shallows of the epochal drama: why can’t you have everything, absolutely everything?

I read this between the lines.

You can’t have everything because everything doesn’t exist. The two sides of happiness are known to the public. After the coals comes peace – peace is certainly one of the happinesses of love, and yet breathless. It also makes you fat. It forces you to look elsewhere.

But I also understand your complaints. Love resents absence and division, the lover wants to be a lover but up to a certain point. But – let’s do the whole dream, imagine yourself together – you would always end up there: another refrigerator for two, a bathrobe on the bed, three hundred and fifty «what shall we eat tonight?» per year.

“It won’t happen to us,” the new pigeons could say. But what shouldn’t happen? Become two who know each other well? How can the rock stem the sea of ​​seeing each other every day? But thank your husband who remains to be the anvil, the facilitator of clandestine emotions. Without him, all of this Disneyland wouldn’t even be possible.

Love tends to normality, C. – I don’t know how else to explain the great mystery of life ruining couples. We’ve already said it: banality, security, anticipation, other repetitive and uninspiring rituals. Getting fed up with things that never change serves the survival of the species. Without boredom we would have died. Adrenaline in massive doses breaks your heart.

No one dies of marriage. Men, better animals and more trained in society, soon learned to keep each other wives and lovers without upsetting residences and bank accounts too much. You will have noticed that males are disinclined to separationdangerous and bad practice. Not to mention useless.

Dear C., but you already knew all these things. And in fact you tell me that the old questions are behind you and you are – you are – so well even like this.

Why are you writing to me for this, to tell me that you’re relatively happy and that’s enough for you, did I get it right?

iO Woman © REPRODUCTION RESERVED