Place de Catalogne, Paris

The nice residence where my husband (future ex husband now) is living with another one, younger. Near me. Sometimes, the night, I pass (in car, quickly) and look at the lights. It's beautiful.

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Life behind ours

You were double (so did I, in turn)
To have me, you walked masked.
Poor little ordinary man who played,
Played and played, afraid I flee,
When what you were would be enough for me ..

Who played a lover, a revolutionary,
A infallible, omniscient, manager
But could not, bursting with inner fear,
Who wanted and did not want, the seed and the flower
Dancing on a volcano

You fed of me me pretending otherwise,
As in Isben's piece. It only took a moment,
For reveal yourself: a Pécuchet
 At his comfort, apartment and manometer
And another woman (younger) to quench you
Who you bluff as the same perhaps?

If it lasted 20 years with me, now you won.
Darling !