Where were you?


I see unhappy singles who live only by criticizing the life of a couple, a life they dream of in silence, of which they cherish tenderly, a life that they are unable to live because their bitterness and jealousy have taken place in favor of a compassionate and welcoming love! I see the world, however, some subjects remain taboo! In this age, to criticize a woman is to distance one'sness from the cause. Being a successful man, you have to have an endless list of women with broken hearts (the reverse is true). Some topics divide and/or are overinterpreted.
Céderai-je un jour à la pression ? Ma réponse est peut-être, sais-t-on jamais ! Mais à ce moment-là, je saurai que les envies de couple ont primé sur les envies de véritable amour ! à ce moment-là, je saurai que j’ai choisi la triste joie de convenir ainsi que quelques plaisirs que jouissent les couples mêmes sans être amoureux.
I learned, later, with disapproval,
that the fleeting nature of beauty
is not a reason to turn away from it.
Quite the opposite.
It is because beauty fades
that we must look at it,
see it while it still lives in us,
cherish it before it slips away.
Love ourselves at every age.
Sometimes for our shapes.
Sometimes for our light.
Sometimes for what we radiate.
Sometimes for what our bodies carry,
what they survive.
She used to tell me:
“Beauty is fleeting.”
And now I tell myself:
“Beauty is what it is.”
And if I must choose
between the ignorance of what I might have savored
and the soft betrayal of an inheritance born of fear,
then I choose to learn how to see.Because maybe if I train my eyes to love,
my heart will know how to remember
even when the body has spent its time,
when the color has faded,
and the skin bears the lines
of years crossed
with or without grace,
but always with trace.
Thus ends the month of resolutions. Thus closes a first chapter of 2026. We find ourselves already a little older with our dreams, sometimes disappointed by our pursuit of perfection, yet brought back to a simpler truth: our habits, our renunciations, and our quiet persistence. For the most fatalistic, it is time to return to the familiar. For those who still hope, the road remains open. In eleven months, there is still time to reformulate, adjust, readjust.
There are days when life slips through our fingers, when everything seems to fall apart.In those moments, the words of others become shelters, their silences become refuge.This text was born from such moments when fear takes over, when exhaustion overwhelms, and yet a voice, a glance, or a helping hand quietly rekindles hope.It began as…
At the dawn of our middle age, we nourish the hope of regaining our age of the cradle and thus despair wins us because life has never been combined with the past! Maturity is giving way to infantile desires.
To ward off this cruel reality, we begin the descent into hell, by going down a few bottles! Just to hate us a little more and forget us as much as possible! The reconquest of oneself is making way for eternal sorrow.
Written by Ariane Umutoniwase
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