Regrettant mon amour...

Oh God.

I think R is going to get back together with her husband. Who was never really not her husband. I still despise him, because he's useless, and I don't like him. He's a patronising arsehole, and I can't believe that he could have done what he did. His watery brown eyes, habitual deafness and way of humming around the house, as if to extricate himself from a delicate situation. A situation that is not delicate, because it's cut and clear- you left. Now you're back. I don't care that he's clever, or ostensibly kind, or brings her roses without giving her a proper response. Flowers that fade from a man that can't damned well live up to his responsibilities and lives his life humming. I can't bear what he did to her.

Which means I'll have to move out, which I was planning to do anyway, but even so, this house is a sort of home. It's not as much of a home as it was, when R and I were in our honeymoon phase, but it is, nonetheless. The district and the house. R said I didn't have to, but I won't be able to bear being round them both. I haven't told her yet.

I feel vaguely guilty. If I'd been more present, if I'd been around, if we'd still had that honeymoon phase, if we'd been quicker to make up after we had that argument. That nags at me. I don't believe they have arguments, and you should argue with the person you've been with all your life. Especially when they betray you. I can't accept that these things are done so quietly, without the least modicum of fuss. I am fussed.

I am worried that he will hurt her again. I can't say any of this to her. I think she's too good for him, and I think that he should have been kissing her feet rather than being vague. I think he should have made promises that he kept instead of giving roses. Flowers and perfume, to say what? Flimsy, beautiful gifts that evaporate and die. To paper over a rift. To portend to romance. To pretend to philosophical notions of what love is. I might not know, or have much experience in it, but I know enough to know that love is hard, love argues, love stays and love apologises. People think that love is some sort of ethereal concept, intangible, for those with refined sensibilities. I am willing to bet that he's playing on this notion. 'I can't give you a response... love is complicated'. No. Love is fidelity. It kills me to think that R might believe that everyone around her thinks that this is a good idea. I do not think it is a good idea. I think she deserves far better. I tell her that her happiness is important, and that I'm behind her.

She wants him back as well. Why? She's in a good mood when he's here. She loves him, probably. She might not have stopped loving him. Why am I bothered? My selfish desires for a home aside, I was never going to be here forever, hence it's far better that R has got someone to be with long-term. I was never going to take central stage; she wants to shove me off into a corner and surround me with non-breakable things. I just can't bear him.

Apparently her mother liked him.

So does K.

Yet roses wilt.

Quand vous serez bien vieille... tu peux faire beaucoup mieux que ce connard, avec son moustache et ses pensees moue.