'My Husband' by Maud Ventura

I'm in love with my husband. Or maybe I should say: I'm still in love with my husband. I love my husband as much as the first day I met him.

My love hasn't followed a natural progression: the passion from the early days of our relationship never mellowed into tender affection. I think of my husband all the time; I wish I could text him all day. I imagine telling him I love him every morning, and I dream of making love to him every night. But I restrain myself, because I'm too old to act lovesick.

Passion is inappropriate with two kids at home, unseemly after so many years of shared life. I know that I have to control myself in order to love. I don't know of any fictional heroine who can show me how to behave. There are plenty of despairing lovers who sing about loss or rejection. But I don't know of any novel, any film, any poem that can serve as my example, show me how to love better, less intensely....


Also read: Velouria by The Pixies

...But what could possibly fill what is already full?

Translated from French by Emma Ramadan.