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If I won the lottery

Modifié le : 2018/11/18

If I won the lot­tery, I’d make a big trip.

He smiles, his eyes hap­py, swollen by his dream. I stick more to him, use his shoul­der as an angu­lar pil­low, still com­fort­able, turns my head towards the col­or­ful win­dow of the green tree, open to the morn­ing sounds of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan. The tree bare­ly moves. The sky is grey, heavy with humid­i­ty. The time is still exquis­ite, I’m not quite awake while he con­tin­ues to talk. He would go to Japan, Indone­sia and espe­cial­ly India. He would like to take a yoga class there.

It’s my turn to smile. I’m still watch­ing the tree. I don’t know what I would do if I had all that mon­ey. One thing is for sure, I would prob­a­bly fall asleep faster at night. I’d be less tired.

By my side, he stops talk­ing. I rise, look out the win­dow at the wob­bly out­line of the leaves which, already, since it is the end of August, are turn­ing yel­low. His hand goes down behind my back.

— If I won the lot­tery, I said, I would prob­a­bly help peo­ple become hap­py. That’s prob­a­bly what it is.

I’m going back to bed. The pil­low is still warm from his pres­ence. He just left. Some­times I won­der if he real­ly exists. I have no cer­tain­ty, I’m poor, what­ev­er. The tree is sat­is­fied with its roots.

— If I won the lot­tery, I would repeat myself, I would not tell any­one and would have fun becom­ing oth­er peo­ple’s guardian angel so that they would believe that Prov­i­dence exists. But I would not help those who whine to cry, I would be hard on those who do noth­ing to rise, who ignore oth­ers. Maybe I’ll offer poi­son to those who vom­it their lives.

The tree does not respond, as if he was care­ful not to put oil on the fire.

No, no, and no, you’re right. I could­n’t be rich and judge peo­ple. It’s a temp­ta­tion to be a politi­cian. I don’t know what I would do. I have to get up. But I still enjoy a few more moments of all these dreams and prayers that are as many desires as good wills.

What­ev­er life we have, it belongs to us. And it’s not a cliché to say it. More like a stub­born boldness.

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