Your secret from Jean-Sebastien Monzani on Vimeo.

Nocturne

Let me tell you a little about my Mr. Actor.

Mr. Actor is a little narcistic, like most actors I suppose, he's a little immature, like most men in their thirties and he's a little annoying, like most men.

Mr. Actor has wonderful curly hair, smiling eyes with an impish look in them and he has the most exquisite taste. His fingers are the most beautiful works of art I have ever seen. Mr. Actor has this air about him that will sweep you off your feet in a second, great sense of humor, always knows what to say. He's flirtatious. Mr. Actor is confident, yet he needs constant reassuring. Mr. Actor is a typical actor.

Mr. Actor was waiting for me on the corner of the street and as I approached him in my white skirt, my legs were shaking. Right in the first ten seconds, he made two compliments and by the time we got to his house, I had fallen in love with his dimples. Mr. Actor's cat is huge, distrustful, a little hostile, but after a couple of minutes she was curled up and purring beside me. Mr. Actor gave me yummie cheese and wine, I got tipsy of course. Mr. Actor kept sitting closer to me, I could feel his attraction, we laughed, we played around with our words, we flirted, I wanted him. He hugged me, caressed me, came closer into my aura. We skipped a couple of steps. Mr. Actor sat at the piano, played Chopin and amazed me, I watched him with trembling legs, touched by his music and I fell in love with his fingers as well. Mr. Actor's tongue is sweet and playful, his arms are strong, his skin is magnetic, his hair screams for fingers to play with it. We slept cuddling., with kisses, with the cat, with the sound of buses under the window.

Mr. Actor is all over the place, he beats about the bush, he can't pronounce the words, I don't need you enough. Mr. Actor pushes me away, but my hands won't let go. Mr. Actor doesn't want me, but he is jealous. He is easy to offend and it is hard to placate. Mr. Actor is unsolvable. Mr. Actor can come up with the most unexpected, illogical, wanton ideas. Mr. Actor has tied me to himself with a string that just won't break.

I really like Mr. Actor. Coz why would it be simple when it can be complicated, too, right?

Ravel

My heart can be broken even after three dates. He swept me off my feet right on the first night we spent together with wine and Chopin, I could have listened to him play for hours, there was no little devil on my left shoulder, I wasn't thinking about what was going to happen the next minute.

I didn't understand how we could be so close and yet so far apart. Every time he woke up during the night, he made sure that at least one part of our bodies was touching. I didn't understand it, but then again, I wasn't trying to, either. I was just living through the moments, one after another.

I found a guy who seemed so perfect, who met every expectation I had, except for one. He wasn't ready for me. Sure, I know, if the whole thing was that way or if I was that way, then he wouldn't be hesitating. He would just jump right in, or at least he would try. Through the years, I have learnt that uncertainty comes when something is missing. That little something special, you know?

I didn't understand why he hugged me so tight, why he didn't let go of me, why we were holding each other for so long while we were breaking up (?), I didn't understand why he was kissing my moist cheeks and my salty mouth, why it was so hard to free my fingers from his grasp when I stepped out the door.

I didn't understand why it could never simply just work out for me. Why can't I ever get my own happy end?

Another screwed up drawing that has to be torn out of the book.

Key, from the inside

I'm not a big fan of universal honesty. I find that forming something beautiful out of something really ugly without telling lies is a wonderful accomplishment and a brave challenge to take on. Bows are my friends, my soldiers are the flowers of speech, my confidant is the Present Simple tense.

In a relationship a girl's best friends are distance and lack of time. If they aren't available, secrets will also do the trick. Secrets, of which - to be completely honest - there aren't many. Therefore we create secrets by adding perfume scent, missed calls and "we can explain" to the witch's brew. Just for you.

He loved touching objects. Objects blended with his soft hands just like cats in heat do with any person's hand. His spatial coordination wasn't what you would call confident, yet it was usually me who was asking him where my keys were. He stuck his index finger into the keyring, tilted his hip towards the right a little, like primadonnas do before the ovation:
- I can see you're looking for these. Am I right? - then he raised his voice, adding a little arrogance to it -, am I right?

- I can see you should go stick something up your ass.

How dare he annoy me early in the morning?!

- Aren't you looking for these?

I was madly in love with this flippant arrogance. I liked that he thought I would take a lot of shit from him.

And he was right. I did take a lot of shit from him without saying a word.

He demanded we watch football on TV.

- Isn't it OK if I just turn on the radio? Then I could watch TV.
- No, I want to watch TV.

So I stepped to the television and turned on the radio right next to it. No difference between the two.

- No, no, no. Please. I'm not stupid. And since you acted like you thought I was stupid, make me some garlic soup.

Without thyme. He like it without thyme. But thyme is the soul of garlic soup. OK, so you want football on my TV? You can screw your soup without thyme. I carefully opened the cupboard and I barely sprinkled some thyme in the soup.

- What are you doing? - he called out from the living room.

- I can explain.

I started the soup again, from scratch.

I hated this special talent of his, how he could feel everything. I closed the window, he told me the curtain was caught in it. I put on different socks in the morning, he handed me the right ones. I went to the shop for some Edelweiss, came back with Leffe and he pointed out the mistake even before he had sipped into it.

He was blind, it's easy that way.

At night he got out of bed to get a glass of water. While he was in the kitchen, I thought it would be funny to act as if I was waiting for an important text message. (I love jealous men.) When he got back into bed, he stroked my cheek:

- When we go to bed, you always turn it off. And that's just what you did tonight as well, at 23:32. It was when the last trolley was leaving the stop down on the street, I heard it. If you want to make me jealous, you have to cheat. Not just pretend to cheat.

My friends had left me, my soldiers had dispersed, my confidant had betrayed me. He sniffs my perfume, my phone doesn't ring, I can't explain. The key to the door of the room with the witch's brew of secrets and lies had broken into the lock. From the inside. That's when I knew this was over.

- I know, it's over. I don't understand women. Why? When we were in perfect harmony all along ...

- Take a wild guess. - I said.

Vicarious

"Why can't we just admit it?"

This time not the instinctive desire to destroy, but the fact that we were wrong. Why does our mind create B, C, D, etc. explanations instead of just accepting the most probable A version?

I screwed up. You screwed up. I don't know who it was, but someone screwed something up.

Today I was listening to Vicarious by the Tool all day long. A character was born, an idea for a new short story I have already started to write.

A little surreal, a little sick, a little depressing. No problem though, coz that's just how we are. Why can't we just admit it?

"Why, oh why?

'cause I need to watch things die

From a distance

Vicariously I, live while the whole world dies

You all need it too, don't lie

Why can't we just admit it?"

Between loyalty and getting soaked

I was standing on the door-step between loyalty and getting soaked. Standing under the doorway to escape from the pouring rain, I was excited and contemplating the possible outcomes of the night ahead. I was thinking about the moment when the rein loosens in the hard grip. About the tense moment when forbidden turns to maybe. About the way two people, each in their own relationships, step on thin ice while holding hands.

- I've been going out with someone for years, I'm totally loyal. I have never cheated on my girlfriend, I'm just not able to get to that final point. Sure, I have hard-ons, I am a man after all, but when I have to choose between loyalty and disloyalty, I don't feel the need to step on the unknown path, honestly.

And then he continued:

- I'm being totally honest now, seriously.

By then I was absolutely sure he wasn't telling me the truth. If he isn't lying, then he is doubtful. If he is doubtful, then I'm just gonna have to make him sure of it.

- Lean closer to me. - he said a couple of hours later. - I said something. Even closer.

I leaned closer.

- And now I'm going to pay the bill and I'm going to take you somewhere. I'm going to tie your hands behind your back, have you ever tried anything like that? And then I'm going to put pins on your nipples and you're going to squeal in the cutest of ways. Not because you enjoy it, but because it's going to hurt, darling.

He leaned back self-righteously and with that movement he knocked over the glass full of champagne.

Fuck.

And here I was, excited about the fact that we were going to step on thin ice, try out everything from gripping to hitting. And suddenly, what am I faced with? This guy really is loyal.

Fuck fuck.

How do I come out as a dame from a situation in which I have to leave the other party thinking he still wants me?

Fuck fuck fuck.

- All right. Let's raise the stakes. Bye!

By fleeing forward. It's OK to run and it's even cuter when you do it in high heels.

And I'm crossing the street with a drunken look on my face, the tequila is working, I stayed loyal AND I got soaked. I said no, because I could feel that he didn't really want it. Thank god I didn't even have a chance to decide whether I wanted it or not.

- Hey! Just one more thing! ... - he runs after me, crossing the street. - Thanks for not making me cheat on my girlfriend.

And he knows.

And he says thanks.

I'm telling you, I was seriously touched.