Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Anne F. Garréta

a friendship with a ghost or a shadow of her. When you start doubting the reality of your feelings and fear having only dreamed or fantasized this ghost out of thin air, you reread a book that she wrote long ago, when you first met. And each time people mock in front of you this or that position that Y* has taken or favored, which so obviously betrays the influence of the other, you can’t help but defend her even though this position turns you off. Isn’t it only natural that our acquaintances, in cafés, in town, in bed, end up influencing our views, our opinions? Judgments are not at all reflections, but made to accommodate those of the circle of our acquaitances. Our habits prompt our judgments more than our tastes do. Can one shed them without tearing apart the circle of friendship? And how can we tell a taste from a habit, an inclination from a subjection? At the same time, you feel a sort of sadness, for the imposture is obscene and cruel, and disfigures Y*, whom you love and didn’t know how to protect (or perhaps conquer… ). You are resigned, however, and are sometimes mad at yourself for the idiotic sentimentality of your attitude. It is, after all, completely ridiculous to still feel the force of a bond that is always refuted and thwarted by the rarity and superficiality of your exchanges… But that is further complicated, for, beyond and beneath the frivolity and the professional chitchat you exchange, she sometimes

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