PLUS DE NOUS

Sometimes love ends not with a slam of the door, but with a weary sigh. When all the ‘nous’ dissolves into thin air, all that remains is the echo of habits and a slight aftertaste of guilt - like the kind you feel when you throw away an old mug: it seems cracked, but you drank from it for years. Here, too, everything is cracked. There is no longer any desire to fix, explain, or save. There is a lightness, even a strange gratitude that it's all over. Freedom without fanfare, without tears, without final scenes. Just no more ‘nous.’ And that, perhaps, is the most honest kind of happiness.