Before we had ever met, we exchanged long, revealing emails, Lover and I. He thrilled me with his words; they drew me to him. There is, to me, a pleasing symmetry in the fact that after trying, but failing, to speak on the phone through his tears and my wails, we took our leave by email. The closing bracket, concluding our parenthèse enchantée.
And now I have read his words, time and time again, I not only understand what happened here, but can no longer flee the inescapable truth that this ending, however wretched, was a necessity.
I will never regret our paths crossing back in May. Wouldn’t trade the panic-inducing intensity of that first evening, and our subsequent hotel trysts, for all the stability in the world. Searing, all-consuming passion; the awakening of those senses which had been dulled in me for the longest time. I felt reborn. Indescribably happy. The future suddenly filled with unexpected promise.
I remember listening to Gorecki on my iPod in a crowded métro carriage, barely able to contain the physical rush of joy I felt from the tips of my toes to the end of every hair follicle, happy tears streaming down my cheeks, oblivious to my fellow travellers.
We shared some perfect moments, he and I. Moments which marked my life indelibly; moments which my present anguish cannot erase.
If only real world worries, doubts and fears hadn’t come crowding into both our minds with the passage of time. If only the dynamics of a long distance relationship hadn’t made us brittle and fragile. If only that first fierce flush of love had stood the test of time, intact, instead of slowly, silently unravelling.
I was aware of a rising tide of uneasiness, gaining ground on me for the past month or so, but couldn’t put my finger on why I was feeling this way. Balked at giving headspace to those treacherous whispering voices. I was so very in love with the dreams we had elaborated together. The house in the country with a garden for Tadpole to play in. The new life away from the city lights. The fresh start. I wrote a little about my confusion, but in guarded, careful terms, for fear of causing further damage. I yearned to see him more often, seeking some sort of confirmation that we were doing what was right. I needed to be sure about July. As sure as anyone can ever be.
So preoccupied was I, trying to quell my own creeping anxieties, I was blinded to the fact that he was having doubts of his own. Quietly wrestling with his demons. Probing, measuring the depth of his feelings. Finding them wanting.
I think there will be moments in every day, for some time to come, when I will feel his absence so keenly that it will crush the very air out of my lungs. Cause me to falter. To feel utterly bereft. Tonight, a memory of him sitting at my dining table, head bent over his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked, tore holes in my insides. The sight of Tadpole knocking softly at the front door, calling “Jim, where are you?” when we returned home made me wince and grip the door handle with white knuckles. Once Tadpole was in bed, the long evening gaped ahead, the terrifying emptiness no longer to be punctuated by his calls.
But I refuse to be bitter, because love doesn’t come complete with guarantees. Because no-one is to blame here. Because neither of us deserves to settle for less than what we shared at the beginning.
Before it waned.
Lamb – Gorecki
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petite anglaise 
Hang in there, Petite. You’re in my thoughts.
I cringe to think of how many relationships are prolonged indefinitely just because two people are too scared of being alone or too scared of admitting failure or too scared of hurting the other person or too scared of putting themselves first to call attention to that little voice in the back of their minds saying, “This might not be quite right afterall.”
Comment by Sarah — March 6, 2006 @ 9:40 pm
Such wise words, sad and beautiful. Beautiful song too *sniff*
Comment by the_editter — March 6, 2006 @ 9:49 pm
How right you are, and how movingly you have depicted your feelings again.
You were both so wise to end a relationship which was flawed.
Comment by Sandy — March 6, 2006 @ 9:54 pm
It is better to have loved and to have lost than never to have loved. x
Comment by fjl — March 6, 2006 @ 10:04 pm
I can’t believe how beautifully and thoughtfully you write, Petite. Your words made my heart clench.
I’m so sorry for you that it turned out this way but you are so right to have no regrets. Keep hold of the memory of the emotions you felt at the beginning and I hope you soon forget the sadness of the end. Remember that the future is still full of unexpected promise (as you so aptly put it) even if it will be a little different than you envisioned.
Thank you again for sharing it with us.
Comment by Hazy — March 6, 2006 @ 10:04 pm
“Love is the saddest thing when it goes away.” I don’t remember who said that but just heard it in Almodovar’s Hable con Ella. With the talent and depth you display in your posts (Thank you for sharing:)I wouldn’t be surprised if love popped up in or out of your inbox again soon…courage, courage petite…
Comment by AlexelA — March 6, 2006 @ 10:20 pm
But is it really over? An epilogue after only 2 days? Isn’t that a bit of a rush? Can he really just go and that’s it?
Sorry about all these questions but perhaps there is still hope…
Comment by Forestine — March 6, 2006 @ 10:32 pm
As many have already said, thank you for sharing. I hope it helps you feel better. I was worried when you shut down your comments! if you bother to post, you are conversing and you could perhaps benefit from the ethereal, verbal *hugs* that are being sent your way. I also congratulate you for being honest with your daughter. Keep plugging.
Comment by Alethea — March 6, 2006 @ 10:34 pm
I suppose what I’m realising is that although it seemed sudden, and knocked the wind out of me, it wasn’t, not really. It had been building for some time, and you can’t will yourself to feel things that you simply no longer feel.
Comment by petite — March 6, 2006 @ 10:36 pm
better to have loved and lost than never to have risked your heart. i admire your open honesty and wish you the very best in your future.
Comment by michelle — March 6, 2006 @ 10:40 pm
My thoughts are with you, Petite. I lost someone dear to me just yesterday. The memories are so hard to bear, but you are wise to savor them–that’s what we’re left with, after all, what enriches our lives.
Courage to you, and thanks for you words–reminding me to savor my memories.
Comment by O — March 6, 2006 @ 10:51 pm
I’m very sorry, Petite. May you find what you’re looking for, someday.
On a strangely ironic note, I googled the Gorecki Lamb mention, as I didn’t recall anything called “Lamb” being written by the composer Gorecki (and honestly was a little surprised you were a fan.) Then discovered that Lamb is a band and Gorecki is the song (OK, yes, I live under a Parisian rock, and yes, am a classical musician.)
Here’s the ironic part. From their website: Lamb has broken up. Well, sort of.
Oof. Sorry, if it’s news to you.
Comment by Ronica — March 6, 2006 @ 10:56 pm
I feel so sorry for you. You had it all planned getting ready for your move to the Province (not easy that one !)
You’re right to have no regrets, love wil be around the corner again … and days are getting longer with spring on its way
Comment by Claude — March 6, 2006 @ 11:05 pm
Petite,
Love does come with guarantees:
Love is the power to break your heart,
Make your heart,
Take your heart,
Forsake your heart.
Not everything about love is bleak though.
I have been in love once or twice, and I have had my heart broken once or twice two.
True love comes when you least expect it,
When you most need it,
When you least want it – often,
But it comes, and you can’t stop it,
And I so would not want to.
Good luck Petite.
Comment by Martin — March 6, 2006 @ 11:35 pm
hmmm sorry there was a too spelt two in there!
Comment by Martin — March 6, 2006 @ 11:36 pm
I love the way you approach this breakup. It is so clever, and you know, those dreams about lifts, it is like you somewhow knew that something was going to happen.We all probably know a lot more than we are willing to admit.
Comment by mag — March 7, 2006 @ 12:02 am
Oh god, it’s such a cliche, but it’s helped me in the past to think that ‘everything happens for a reason’.
He came into your life when you needed him to, and now he’s moving out of your life to make way from something bigger, better and brighter around the corner. It will come (it did for me) and the anticipation will make it all the sweeter.
And I just loved that music…
Comment by Paola — March 7, 2006 @ 12:07 am
paola is absolutely right! He came into your life, to open your senses, to give you a glimpse of what you deserve, what you should wait for.
Good luck to you, I’m sorry your heart was broken, take care!
kim
Comment by kim Baker — March 7, 2006 @ 12:46 am
*sends you hugs*
i can see that you are already stronger from this experience, and you have the best outlook possible. :)
Comment by Lynn — March 7, 2006 @ 1:37 am
Petite,
This is my first comment though I’ve been reading for awhile. Thank you for sharing; your writing expresses such a depth of emotion. I know I have felt similar things about loss and your writing brings me comfort to know I am not alone. My hope for you is that you are comforted and strengthened…we are thinking of you!
Comment by NicoleH — March 7, 2006 @ 1:43 am
I agree with the ladies above. I am sure in some form or another, this will make you better to the next person…who, if you stay optimistic, just might be the last person, too – une personne qui offirait des grandes jardins pour votre enfant – et pour votre imagination. :)
Comment by Fixed Up Girl — March 7, 2006 @ 1:48 am
ah, Petite, I have loved Lamb for so long, didn’t know of that beautiful song. thank you for it. there are a few lines from a song beautifully done, maybe even written by Bonnie Raitt:
“..you can’t make your heart feel something it won’t,..
I can’t make you love me if you won’t..” it’s a plaintive, lovely melody and has helped me wallow and wail through more than one broken heart.
and back to Lamb, they did a beautiful song called My Angel Gabriel from a Cafe del Mar compilation. It may lift you a bit, espcially if you insert Tadpole’s name. And Petite? you are far, far better at seeing this, handling this waning and ending than most of us will ever be. May your healing be as clear-eyed and speedy, chica. Many hugs.
Comment by caroline — March 7, 2006 @ 2:46 am
this is all quite a shock to me, too, but i have to stick up for my gender: it seems clear (in retrospect) that petite sensed that this breakup was something that was coming, too. those of us in the comments gallery shouldn’t take the easy route and start demonizing jim, though — he’s in deep pain over this, too. from my point of view, i think it took tremendous courage for him to realize that this wasn’t a relationship that was meant to last, and to face the truth and bring it to light. i feel pain for petite AND jim — and wish better days for them both. i hope the friendship they fostered early on will be able to resume at some point, once the pain of the breakup has passed. i don’t mean to preach — it’s just two francs.
Comment by franko — March 7, 2006 @ 4:05 am
Oh Petite, for what it’s worth I’m sending positive energy your way. Your Tadpole is such a joy. Take care.
Comment by ~Tim — March 7, 2006 @ 4:09 am
Paola hit it on the nose. I don’t know why I felt this, because I don’t even know you, but for some reason I have long thought that Lover came into your life to help you transition away from Mr Frog, because it didn’t sound like that was really working for you or for Mr Frog. There’s an expression I once heard that helped me make sense of my last big relationship (the one I thought was THE One, but he wasn’t) and the demise thereof:
“People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.” It sounds to me like you’ve put this into a very healthy perspective. Your “lifetime” is still out there, waiting for you. And so is mine.
Comment by The Bold Soul — March 7, 2006 @ 4:10 am
I don’t want to rain on an earlier commenter’s parade, but all relationships are necessarily flawed because all people are necessarily flawed. It takes a lot of experience and care to decide which are the flaws one can happily live with.
It’s a rough road ahead, healing. I wish you well. I’m still trying myself, and it’s slow going.
Comment by Clio — March 7, 2006 @ 4:57 am
So through the eyes, love attains the heart:
For the eyes are the scouts of the heart,
And the eyes go reconnoitering
For what it would please the heart to possess.
And when they are in full accord
And firm, all three, in one resolve,
At that time, perfect love is born
From what the eyes have made welcome to the heart.
Guiraut De Borneilh (1138-1200?)
Comment by Dave of the Lake — March 7, 2006 @ 5:03 am
franko – you are right, of course. I wrote these entries pretty much in real time, so on Friday there was utter shock and incomprehension, on Saturday there was horror, fear and grieving, and by Monday, well, I was starting to see more clearly.
I feel that now, even though it’s so very painful, I can see beyond it, to the future (albeit a very different future, and I will mourn our plans for a very long time), and I think I’ll be okay.
Comment by petite — March 7, 2006 @ 7:53 am
I know its probably a bit too soon following your break-up for me to say this, but from reading many of your posts, it seems to me that you derive a lot of your sense of security from having a man in your life? (I’m only guessing). I know we’re all different, and some people find it easier to be single for a prolonged period than others do, (and I’m probably the latter – single since June ’03 and not feeling desperately in need of a partner) but if part of your distress is the fear of being alone again, then it need not be such a worry. Once you’re over the worst of the initial pain and hurt of your break-up, I would suggest that you enjoy being single for the time being. You can use the interregnum (! yeah, wrong word) to discover yourself more deeply, get to know what you value and desire from life. That way, when you do meet a new potential partner, you will be better equipped/empowered to go more slowly into the relationship, rather than leaping into “love” out of a need not to be alone, if that makes any sense at all.
Comment by Tom Tyler — March 7, 2006 @ 9:01 am
(‘interregnum’ means the time between the end of the reign of one king and the beginning of his successors)
Comment by Martin — March 7, 2006 @ 9:15 am
Yes Tom, there is some truth in what you say. I think I was only single for maybe 2 years out of the last 18, and not necessarily happily so. Out of respect for Tapole, who doesn’t deserve to witness a string of failed romances, I have to take my time over this now (and try not to listen to the clock ticking).
Comment by petite — March 7, 2006 @ 9:29 am
….nothing to add to the above,Petite, but lots of hugs whisper-winging their way to you from this corner …..OOOO
Comment by Morbihan Princess — March 7, 2006 @ 9:47 am
What a wonderfully mature woman you are.
I’ve avoided posting before now, because all I could think of were platitudes. Time heals, one day you’ll look back, blah blah, yes, we know, but for now it hurts, and the best I feel I can give you is a {{{HUG}}} and a major pat on the back for being so damn sensible.
But do let yourself grieve. You’re allowed to grieve.
Comment by Clare — March 7, 2006 @ 10:02 am
I’m so entirely impressed with your writing, Petite. Those delicious moments come through so clearly when you describe them and I want to thank you for that. I think you’ll be okay too.
Comment by Theresa — March 7, 2006 @ 11:17 am
Petite, I’ve only written here once before as well, and I, as usual, went on for much too long about my own experience and my reaction to something you were going through. Here I just want to offer you some words of support, too, as others have done. And I agree, nothing I could say would sound right or be anything but banal… And I don’t want that to happen. So many others here have said wonderful things and have expressed themselves so well, and I can only second (third, fourth, hundredth?!) the notion!
When I read your post this weekend, I was stunned at first as well. I wanted to write right away, and I let it all settle in for a bit before responding today… You sound like an amazingly strong and talented woman, and everything I read here on your site is so beautifully written — you are already a wonderful success, and the future only holds wonderful things for you. I’m thinking of you…
Comment by Always Ace — March 7, 2006 @ 11:26 am
Dear Petite
My heart jumped when I read the title to this post.
I have been reading your blog since the week before your break with Mr Frog.
Just being happy to be allowed to follow your love affair with Lover – my own similar experience having ended sadly my heart only hoped that yours would be the one to prove that ‘happy ever after’ is possible.
But now, I though, there will be no more lurking! I at least can tell you that I know that even after a sad end you can be happy on you own. Although before then, there will be a lot of confused feelings and going back and forth between being ok and feeling absolutely lost.
Hugs
Margret
Comment by Margret — March 7, 2006 @ 11:32 am
Ever since you wroter about your separation from Mr Frog, I’ve been wondering if you are who you say you are or in fact a very clever fictional creation. Something in your writing, though still as beautiful and skilfull as ever, no longer rang true. Maybe this is why? I share the shock of all your readers, anyway, and send you lots of love.
Comment by Jean — March 7, 2006 @ 12:09 pm
Oh Petite – just catching up with your news – and I’m really, really sorry. I don’t know if you remember, but when you started your relationship with Jim, I was one of the people advising you to take your time, give yourself space to grieve for the loss of your relationship with Mr Frog, alongside the development of your new relationship. But I understand now that you were right and I was wrong. I’m so glad you gave in to that ‘searing, all-consuming passion’ and had so many wonderful moments as a result. You’d think I’d know from the work I do that our times of joy can be abruptly ended in many unpredictable ways. It seems to be a lesson I still have to learn.
Comment by Zinnia Cyclamen — March 7, 2006 @ 12:17 pm
I had found it harder to write lately, and with hindsight, I don’t think I was being entirely honest with myself or my readers (but as he numbered among them, how could I?).
A fictional character? I wish!
Zin – I remember well and they were wise words, even if I found them hard to live by… I keep all my emails and the many thoughtful messages people sent me when I left Mr Frog, along with those I am receiving now, make a pretty overwhelming collection.
Comment by petite — March 7, 2006 @ 12:18 pm
First – how I love that song!
Secondly, I think you are handling this in a truly dignified way. I too have gripped door handles with white knuckles and felt myself losing my grip on dignity as a familiar smell, word or moment has made me want to melt into a puddle on the floor thinking of my lost lover.
We lived together in Roma and we loved one another deeply. But try as I might I couldn’t be what he wanted – and he was not able to give me what I needed because he wouldn’t compromise.
Even now, well over a year later I find myself back in my homeland and some nights the pain for him is almost unbearable. He gave me an amazing amount of security……..to steal the words from Gorecki – “wrapped in the warmth of you, loving every breath of you”……….my heart used to truly burst with the thought of him – he didn’t have to be near me, with me. The way he made me feel was ever present.
And sometimes now my heart still threatens to burst, with aching and longing. I won’t go back, and I know he has too much pride to admit he might want me back.
But I think what I really long for is how he made me feel……….I never cried on the Metro in happiness, but internally I was overflowing with joy.
One day, I’ll have that again.
And I know you will too.
All the best to you Petite.
Comment by Kasey — March 7, 2006 @ 12:25 pm
25 years ago today, to the minute, I was standing, pale and trembling, clad in a long white wedding dress with all the ‘trimmings’ waiting for the limousine that would take me to the church…
I don’t remember how long I was happily married, not long I suspect, but I do know that it took me too many years to find the strength and the courage to leave my marriage
There is nothing to fear in solitude
Being in a dead relationship is far more lonely
Good Luck and courage
Comment by Julia — March 7, 2006 @ 1:27 pm
I only really know you through the other blogs I have read, but as soon as I read your post – especially the reference to the Lamb track (curiously on my mind much of late) – I knew I had to offer a comment.
Platitudes and cliches they may be, but I hope that you remain able to treasure and delight without regret all the good aspects of your relationship. No matter how damaging or disappointing a relationship may be – especially at its ending – we rarely enter in without some sense of happiness at the sensations it allows us to experience. Keep those close: nothing should take that away from you.
“All I’ve known, all I’ve done, all I’ve found was leading to this”: take its happiness for what it is and was – nothing more and nothing less. I hope you can take strength from the comments of those who have visited you here and your friends. Emailed bloggy hugs
Lisa
Comment by Lisa Rullsenberg — March 7, 2006 @ 1:38 pm
oh…snif
I suggest an evening of girlfriends, cold white wine and masses of hugs to soothe your sad heart…
thinking of you…
Comment by croque madame — March 7, 2006 @ 1:39 pm
‘Epilogue’ is a beatifully written post so, despite the pain, good is emerging from it. It has evoked so many caring and inspirational responses which, I am sure you will cherish. Also, I remain convinced that 2006 will (as I intimated around New Year) be ‘your best year yet’. It will not seem so now but the year is young and you have the courage, endurance and so many gifts to enable you to realise your dreams. And, for now, Tadpole will be your perfect refuge, your haven and your beacon for the future.
Comment by fella — March 7, 2006 @ 2:48 pm
Hi Petite Anglaise!
One of my friends gave me your blog address on Saturday and I’ve been hooked since. I’ve been thinking of writing my own blog for the past 6 months or so, and now you’ve inspired me: I’ve just created it! It’s a bit scary at first, but I’m sure I’ll get used to the idea. I’m an editor and aspiring writer, and I’m… French. I’ve been living in England for 10 years… Yes, I arrived in your country just as you left for mine… When I read your lines, I feel like I’m reading my own life – only in reverse (except I don’t have a Tadpole, or indeed a Rosbifette, just yet!). The entry entitled ‘The end of the Affair’ on 26 May 2005 particularly struck a chord with me – it’s the entry that sends us to an article you wrote for Expatica. The way you feel when you come back to England is exactly how I feel when I go back to France, and for the same reasons as the ones you mention, I would carry on living in the UK if, for some reason, things ended with my fiancé (no sign of that right now, and hopefully there will never be any, but you just never know). I look forward to reading more of your blog – it’s addictive indeed. I wish you all the best in your new ventures. I hope you can find a nice Mr Frog #2 or another Rosbif, via your blog or otherwise.
Lotus Flower
Comment by Lotus Flower — March 7, 2006 @ 3:07 pm
You are an outstanding writer – the way you capture and share your intimate feelings leaves me breathless – and you are an even more extraordinary role model.
As a fellow “ex-pat living in France” (albeit an American and not a British one), I check your blog at least once a day. I am often jealous, as I find my own writing lacking the “online connection” that you’ve managed to create.
As others have already commented, even though we’ve never met I feel like I know you. When i read the posts from the weekend, it took my breath away.
I wish you continued strength and courage. Even though I find it even harder to deal with breakups abroad, you have an amazing “virtual community” that is here to support you.
Thank you for sharing your joy and your pain – we all benefit from your experience.
Comment by erica — March 7, 2006 @ 3:15 pm
Anyone who has ever been in love knows the pain you are feeling right now. My heart breaks for you, but just remember – the rest of your book is still unwritten, and the best chapters lie ahead.
Comment by Sharon — March 7, 2006 @ 4:58 pm
Here, I brought some chocolate and framboise. Please, sit a while while I make some tea.
Comment by joeinvegas — March 7, 2006 @ 5:27 pm
Not to sound flippant or anything (because you do know already how sad I am for you all), but just think, you’ll have exquisitely beautiful memories as an old lady sitting on your porch (or wherever) rocking gently back and forth. That alone is more than most people have…
(To live intensely and without regrets is something I aspire to. Granted not everyone wants to lead their life like that!)
Ton veritable amour t’attend au prochain tournant…
Hugs.
K
Comment by Kiora — March 7, 2006 @ 5:28 pm
C’est bizarre comme on peut s’attacher aux gens qu’on se connait pas… J’ai lu ton blog régulièrement, comme ça, car les expériences d’expatriés m’intéressent (en étant moi meme une). Et puis voilà que ce week-end, je me met à trembler avec toi… qu’aujourd’hui, je suis rassurée par ta lucidité et l’espoir qui t’habites.
Le post de ce jour est très émouvant et magnifiquement bien écrit. Je pense à toi.
OK, Sorry, next time I will make the effort to write in English.
Comment by Juliette — March 7, 2006 @ 6:00 pm
I’m so sorry to hear about you and Jim. This is twice now you’ve sucker punched your readers with things in your life, so it’s bound to turn round to the positive. I’m very glad Mr. frog is being a gentleman and your friend. I’m also glad this happened before spring starts. There is something about a fresh day in a new season which makes everything seem ok. You have my prayers and best hopes.
Comment by Leslie — March 7, 2006 @ 6:31 pm
Petite, I felt at this time it was right for me to thank you for helping me retain my sanity, your joy, wit and intelligence brings me back day after day and brightens my working life. So it was with a heavy heart and a lump in my throat that i read what you are going through, though I don’t know you all i wanted to do was give you a huge hug and talk to you – just goes to show doesn’t it how your writing affects people. From the comments i have read today you have many people who care for you – and though I am in Scotland know that there is another here sending you hugs and support. All the best
Comment by Casper — March 7, 2006 @ 6:47 pm
Petite –
First, all my best. There is no harder place to be, and nothing can be said that will dull the pain for now.
But second, I think now of a post I made several weeks ago, asking about how much you censor yourself, knowing that Jim is in your audience. And you said that you didn’t at all. But isn’t that the funny thing? We can do these so very easily, without noticing it until the moment has passed, and until we can look back on the face we created and see that it is was never really our own.
En tout cas, bon courage. La vie continue, meme quand on n’a pas trop envie.
Kerry
Comment by Kerry — March 7, 2006 @ 7:02 pm
So sad to read of the breakup but glad there seems to be a more buoyant air. Please accept another virtual hug.
There is some good news. You still have your appartment, job and friends in Paris. You have a childminder and Mr. Frog to help with Tadpole. You are not on your own in a new city with everything to sort.
Good Luck!
Comment by Brian — March 7, 2006 @ 7:28 pm
… and thanks for the Gorecki offering!
Comment by Loxias — March 7, 2006 @ 8:17 pm
Sorry to hear about the breakup, but are you sure you weren’t putting unrealistic expectations on the relationship? I mean, it is great that you had exceptionally great, transcendental love/sex/affection to begin with, but it might not be realistic to expect it to continue like that. Newness always wears off once something isn’t new any more. Even the most in-love people I’ve met can’t keep the tingley eroticism going forever. Sooner or later it winds down into warm comfy-ness and just generally happy being togetherness…
Comment by Neepster — March 7, 2006 @ 8:25 pm
You express yourself so well… The song you chose to share with us is beautiful and your words wise. I know you will come out of this stronger.
Comment by Chanda — March 7, 2006 @ 8:30 pm
Neepster –
A propos of your post, I would counsel you to read l’amour dure trois ans by Frederic Beigbeider. He doesn’t speak very highly of that comfy-ness.
Comment by Kerry — March 7, 2006 @ 8:39 pm
Petite, So sorry for your broken heart.And deeply wish you peace and love for your life. Your blog makes me feel like I know you and that my heart goes out to you now in your heart break. Please know you have people who youve never met that are behind you.
Hugs from the states,
Linda
Comment by Linda — March 7, 2006 @ 9:02 pm
Courage, chère petite…
Je partage cette tristesse…
Je ressens ton esprit troublé et ton désarroi…
Ta douleur et la peine de perdre l’amour de ta vie sont si palpables sur cette page virtuelle.
Il y a une certaine impuissance de ces mots pour guérir les maux de coeur.
Mais en tout cas, prends soin de toi…
take heart, ma petite…
et je crois…
ça va aller.
Chantorelle
Comment by Chantorelle — March 7, 2006 @ 9:03 pm
That was really beautiful and dignified. The ending of anything is so sad, and you explained it so perfectly without any bitterness or partiality.
xx
Comment by mimi — March 7, 2006 @ 9:20 pm
Petite,
After lurking for months (like many others) I must write a quick note to say how very sorry I am about your breakup. Let your heart heal, but don’t give up on the opposite sex! I, for one, look forward to the thought of you, with your usual wit, grace and humor, describing good, great and absolutely horrible adventures in dating. I know it will be in the future, whenever your heart says its ready, but thinking of what you will bring to the table on THAT particular subject, I’m smiling already.
Sandy
Comment by Sandy — March 7, 2006 @ 9:32 pm
So sorry to hear how things have turned out Petite.
I know all too well, the difficulty of falling for someone via blogging and it not working out.
My heart goes out to you. Stay strong and best of luck.
Comment by The Girl — March 7, 2006 @ 10:28 pm
*hug* Not much to say really that others havn’t already said. We’re here. You know that. We’ll wait.
Take care petite
x
Comment by Ellie — March 7, 2006 @ 10:44 pm
I’ve been thinking about this.
About love being as much an idea, as an actual thing which happens between people. Sometimes, for many different reasons, two people are in love with the idea of love. And they conspire with each other to build that concept up into something as big as they possibly can. Because they are lonely. Because they’re in an unsatisfactory relationship. Because they hunger for stimulus, for an injection of passion into their lives. Because they want to try being someone else. Because they are intense people. But once the initial, mutually-fermented frenzy dies down, there isn’t necessarily much else left. Except maybe a slight discomfort, and a desire to distance yourself from its source.
Of course, I may be talking out my arse. I often do.
Comment by Clare — March 8, 2006 @ 12:59 am
Very sorry to hear that you are going through such a hard time. Thank goodness that your little Tadpole is there to help you heal…Time is the best thing in my opinion. Good Luck.
Comment by Tan — March 8, 2006 @ 1:43 am
I have lived vicariously through your happiness for months. Thus, I feel a bit of your pain as well.
I had wished you and Jim the best in the past, and now I wish it for you more than ever.
I’d say something along the lines of, ‘Keep your chin up,’ but you have clearly done that of your own accord. I’m glad to see it.
Comment by 21st Century Woman — March 8, 2006 @ 3:28 am
I’ve been reading since winter of 2005… I’m very sad for you and Tadpole and Lover. Loves and hugs from across the Atlantic.
Comment by Alessandra — March 8, 2006 @ 5:15 am
Bless Petite. Been reading you for a while now, and I felt compelled to offer something in return. I know a thing about love reduced to being shot by someone who outgrew you. (Ok, I think I just ripped off a song from years ago, which I can’t exactly place, but sadly I imagine it fits.) If you don’t have it on your iPod, download ‘Banquet’ by Bloc Party. Blast it. At the very least, it’ll make you dance around to the shrieking delight of Tadpole. And blast on when you’re ready. Stiff upper chins, lips, etc. are for grannies with botox. Take care of yourself first. (But maybe that’s Yankee bias.) Godspeed.
Comment by C. — March 8, 2006 @ 5:46 am
I’m so sorry that it didn’t work out Petite.
I’m a bit concerned by the title of your last post, “Epilogue”. Please tell us that it doesn’t mean the end of your blog…
Comment by Helen — March 8, 2006 @ 1:04 pm
That’s the spirit Petite :) Never give up believing in love! I firmly believe “it’s better to have loved and lost, to have never loved at all”. Cherish the memories, and love will find you again.
Big hugs, Dazzle
Comment by Just Dazzle — March 8, 2006 @ 1:54 pm
Maybe it’s because I just lived something similar, maybe it’s because it was so unexpected but after reading Epilogue this morning I have been feeling really sad…for me, for you! But I have also an adorable little girl who brightens my days! Courage chère Ptt…!
Comment by Eau — March 8, 2006 @ 2:27 pm
Give up blogging? Me?
I can’t actually, because some kind people (who I have thanked profusely) have clicked on the “donate” link and paid for my next six months of hosting. So even if I felt like taking a break (which I don’t), I couldn’t really, could I?
However, I shan’t be writing anything today, because I have the hangover from hell and I have to give my synapses time to knit themselves back together so that I am capable of coherent thought.
I suspect it will prove to be very hard work being single and having to do all that going out and drinking.
Comment by petite — March 8, 2006 @ 3:13 pm
Ma chére petite:
I have been reading u for months, I do so much adore your style, u sound like a modern day Jane Austen.
But tobe really honest… I kinda saw this one coming,the end of this relationship. Things didn’t sound alright between u and Lover in the last posts. Or rather: from nearly the begining of your relationship with him. I was shocked when u and Mr. Frog broke up THAT one I didn’t see coming. But I wish u the best luck in the world, and please do keep writing. I love reading ur words. U’re like a poem.
Comment by Ruth — March 8, 2006 @ 5:28 pm
You sound like a strong lady, petite:) Youve been through so much…
Its so good that you can now see this had to happen, that it happened for a reason, as did your relationship…
Who knows what wonderful surprises are waiting for you and tadpole in the future? Now you have the opportunity to create something new.
Your words have given me many laughs, and made me smile…these last few posts shocked and made me pensive, but i can still detect that positivity and goodness, and can see that your hope is still intact:) And so all will come together.
Comment by Maxi — March 8, 2006 @ 6:56 pm
I have been reading your blog for over a year and although lately it seemed as though you & Jim were too hot not to cool down, Petite, I don’t think that even the most intrepid of your readers could have predicted how rapidly things would devolve from what once seemed so promising…I hope that you and he can one day reconnect as friends, for after all it was he who awoke your soul from its love and life slumber…You were not in this relationship alone, no matter how it may seem at times, and he must be in tremendous pain too…You are a very brave and resilient woman to share your rent heart with us!
May all in which you believe bathe your soul with strength and love as you propel forward to your lifes’ New Day!!
Much Love,
Comment by Belle — March 8, 2006 @ 8:50 pm
I’m so sorry.. thinking of you.
Comment by cmhl — March 8, 2006 @ 10:02 pm
Just caught up.
Really sorry.
Comment by Tim — March 8, 2006 @ 10:03 pm
Tim! You’re still here. Wow. I love it when one of the readers who was there in the beginning shows up after a long comments absence. Makes me feel all warm inside.
Comment by petite — March 8, 2006 @ 10:37 pm
Hello Petite, I’m a shy reader from Portugal. I use to read your (wonderful) blog but I never wrote any comment. Yesterday I was really sad about the news and I just wanted to wish you all the best, coz you are a great Petite.
“Good things come to those who wait” :-)
Alex
Comment by Alex — March 8, 2006 @ 11:21 pm
Oh God, I completely sympathize. I too made plans with a man I was completely in love with and I didn’t see his doubts growing and growing until it was too late. Either way, everything happens for a reason. Jim came into your life to show you real love. To give you the courage to leave Mr. Frog in pursuit of your own happiness. There is always a reason.
Comment by juliana — March 9, 2006 @ 1:48 am
Dear Petite,
I’ve been away and just today had time to catch up. I read your nightmare about the lift and don’t think it was a coincidence that you had that nightmare– you had sensed something very wrong. I am so sorry.
I’m glad your Mr Frog was thoughtful just when you needed it. I think he still loves you. And you have your loving Tadpole.
We are all on your side.
Comment by Sedulia — March 9, 2006 @ 2:21 am
Very touching, and written with such flair, amid the tears no doubt. Thanks for sharing so eloquently.
Comment by Theblonde — March 9, 2006 @ 9:24 am
Even your comment reply to a comment is nearly as good as a post! Yay!
Comment by Flighty — March 9, 2006 @ 9:32 am
I guess there is nothing much to say. But you said it beautifully, if that counts. Take care.
Comment by schuey — March 9, 2006 @ 11:14 am
I have shed many tears over this song. My first (proper) boyfriend bought this cd for me when I was 17, years later when we split up it reminded me of the wonderful feeling we had all that time ago. Ten years on from that I cry as soon as I hear it!
It is such a beatiful song and so are your words. After reading petite anglaise for a while now, I get the feeling that you and Tadpole will get through this together.
much love
Comment by Rebecca — March 9, 2006 @ 2:15 pm
I’m one of those lurkers who has been drawn out of the shadows by your bitter-sweet description of the end of a love affair. It is no mean feat – and the sign of a good writer – to convey to your readers the paradox of the unknowability of another person’s pain, yet the universality of such feelings. I think that is why so many of us have been touched by your recent posts. We feel your hurt, even though we can’t possibly know what you are going through. Finally, I wondered if you had heard the new solo effort by Louise Rhodes, ‘Beloved Ones’? She apparantly wrote it in the aftermath of the break up of both Lamb and her relationship with her long-term partner and father of her children. As you obviously appreciate, she has a knack of capturing beautifully the highs and lows of life and love – and this album is no exception.
Comment by Nikki — March 9, 2006 @ 3:10 pm
I never went away, PA. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. Warm inside feelings back.
Comment by Tim — March 9, 2006 @ 8:12 pm
I am not so good with the heartfelt comments – sarcastic remarks or lame gags are more my line of work. In any case, sorry things didn’t work out, but don’t worry – lovely people like you will always find it comes good in the end.
Comment by the manly smell — March 10, 2006 @ 9:33 am
Who sings on the audioblog? I am not familiar with the song or singer. I liked it very much.
Elle
Comment by Elle — March 11, 2006 @ 2:57 pm
Elle – it’s quite an old song, by a group called Lamb, who have now apparently disbanded.
Comment by petite — March 11, 2006 @ 4:09 pm
Just catching up on your blog and I am so terribly sorry. You must be reeling. My advice is to take your time, be good to yourself, enjoy your little one, and let your friends and loved ones nurture you. Sometimes you just have to sit in a place for a while before you know what to do next.
Comment by Small Town Diva — March 11, 2006 @ 6:00 pm
Anyone fancy a pint?
Comment by douglas mcleod — March 11, 2006 @ 6:47 pm
Ooh, yes please. Thought you’d never ask.
Comment by petite — March 11, 2006 @ 9:24 pm
Your writing is so good that your making me cry!!! I am so sorry! But it is so beautiful to have loved like that; if only for a short time.
Comment by Julie — March 12, 2006 @ 11:52 pm