One day, I tried to imagine the most beautiful woman in the world.
I imagined June.
It’s… Anaïs.
Annis…
Of course. Anaïs.
Henry can’t pronounce your name.
He can’t stop talking about you.
June!
Everything Henry said is true.
She doesn’t give a fig about the truth.
She contradicts herself with every word.
Hello, Annis.
June is an apparition. Elusive.
She lives on her reflection in the eyes of others.
She is the Creation. A fantasy. She seems to have no substance of her own.
Her love for Henry keeps her whole.
Without him, she would break into a thousand shards.
I understand… I have Hugo… and my diary.
At the end of the evening, I was like a man, hopelessly in love with her. Her body. Her magic.
I wanted to hold on to her, to tell her that I’ve dreamed of her my whole life.
You say that because you’re attracted to her!
How is it you don’t understand what we see in her?
No. Absolutely not.
But you, if you were a man…
I really don’t! I think she’s empty, rude…
I must see her again!
Yes! Anyway…
I feel innocent.
How fluidly I slide from one character into another!
If I don’t create a world by myself and for myself, I would die, suffocated by the world others have defined for me.
My lies and my costumes are my freedom.
I’m
not afraid of lies anymore.
My morality exists only when I am confronted by another’s pain.
At first, I’m enraged by all this pain.
But deep inside me, I know that I did what I had to do.
And I’m sad, sad to have caused death and destruction.
When I rejected motherhood, the little girl inside me disappeared.
I no longer need a father.
Now I can love a man as an equal, a lover and a creator. And I choose to be The Creator.
I will never be ONE woman, or the lover of ONE man.
I will never be perfect.
I will live these multiple lives, explore the thousands of facets of my being, and live passionately, powerfully.
For beauty. For love. For creation.
