Les amants. Magritte

This vow

People still get married nowadays. The means and celebrations differ, the vow always remains the same. They will be happy, they say to themselves, as much in misfortune as in happiness. They will go through time, build a house, erect comforts, be fertile.

The journey often derails, the ship runs aground, drownings are numerous. Some unite like blind people, drugged by convenience or guided by false prophets. There are those who live badly, who do not understand the daily effort it takes to dig, in a very deep furrow, a single “I love you”.

Living is an art, doing it with someone else by your side is sometimes a feat, because so many people love without receiving, or so little. They are legion to chew the crumbs of their passions, obeying only their desires, clamoring their torments. Legion also those lovers, no warriors here, who give up without fighting the embers of their hearts. There are all these lazy people who do not tolerate humanity and the movement of feelings.

However, this serious promise to love each other does not always turn into blasphemy, tragicomedy, clowning. It’s a bit like the lottery. Many called, and few chosen. There are still many who, silently, cross rivers, climb mountains or take small, quiet and happy steps along the paths of everyday life. They build a house, wrap themselves like cats in a small domestic box, populate the Earth, make their children happy, who in turn continue to knit the family.

Perhaps their joy euthanizes their truths, that the sacrifices and hazards of fate level out the unique colors of their existence—it will be above all the eternal singles who will be the judges—but since there is no final court, only the peace of their soul matters.

Yes, this promise is well worth all the grapes in paradise. The great paradox is that it is nourished at the source of a selfish vow, a promise that lovers pronounce loud and clear in front of an assembly of converts or only taking to witness the warmth of their intertwined bodies. A fiery, intense vow that one of them will grant to the other as the ultimate sacrifice, knowing that he will not be able to live it.

“I want to die in your arms.”

And for those who survive, who bury their lover, they still aspire to happiness and promise, at the last breath, to coil themselves in the memory of past glances and caresses once cherished.