He hasn't actually spoken French out loud, but as he was reading I saw him nod and murmer sounds of approval. I didn't want to pry, he is a private sort of creature. Alas, my curiosity got the better of me and when he went to lay down for a nap, leaving the book open at a certain page I managed to see which poem it was he had been reading, it was:
[JE NE SAIS PLUS]*
Je ne sais plus ni si je l'aime
Ni si l'hiver sait mon péchéLe ciel est un manteau de laine
Et mes amours s'étant cachés
Périssent d'amour en moi-même
oh my, straight away I feel guilty for prying into his affairs, I mean if this is how he feels, it's no business of mine. Then again it might not have anything to do with where he's at. Although he was in a terrible state when he arrived at my door.....stop! stop speculating. I no longer know either. He'll tell me when he's ready.
* I NO LONGER KNOW
I no longer know whether I love her
Nor if Winter has knowledge of my sin
The sky is a woollen blanket
And my loves remaining hidden
Would perish of love within myself
(my translation, so I'm not sure it's accurate!)
3 comments:
"stop speculating!"...yes...this
reminds me of the one good thing
i carried away from a difficult
lover..he said " if someone doesn't tell you what they are thinking, and you insist on constantly guessing, then...50% you might be right and 50% you might be very wrong.
so..yes..stop. Wait. i might be
more than you could ever imagine.
it might
not
i might
more, yes definitely so
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