Fragments of a Life Loved (2023) Movie Script
1
I don't know if...
if I want to love or be loved.
I guess it's the same thing, after all.
FRAGMENTS OF A LIFE LOVED
Who do our memories belong to?
I mean, when people divorce or split up.
Do we own our memories?
We don't.
Can we prevent someone
from having memories of us?
We can't.
We all make some small gestures
that originally didn't belong to us.
We had to love deeply
to make them our own.
That's how we learn how to move.
It's...
It's for love.
Love has opened up my soul and my eyes
more than anything else.
I haven't had that many,
but I did have some.
And by the way, let's face it.
This "one true love" doesn't exist,
the one you can't lose,
because there won't be another.
It's completely false. Luckily.
I had many love stories.
Some of them weren't love stories.
But I consider time in relation to love.
My personal chronology
is based on romance,
more than in years or career achievements.
A love story doesn't just end one day
when you say, "It's over".
I have never been able
to break up with someone.
All of my exes were invited to my wedding.
SONY
ROME asw 99 J. Phi / Kim / Nadia
O
I never speak with my ex-girlfriends.
I think they hate me.
You know?
A couple of them hate me,
I'm sure of that.
I guess the others do too.
It's not something I hide
or that I somehow belittle.
Teen love shouldn't be...
shouldn't be considered
as being less significant.
I could say it's the opposite.
Our high-school was in the Latin Quarter.
We could have been in any high-school,
in any region in France.
It would've been the same.
We were students.
We needed to get out, to dream, to love.
We were teenagers
and those years are so powerful.
She was a friend of my older sister's.
I think the first time I met her
I must have been 14 or 15.
We had some mutual friends.
She was popular in high-school
and we had friends in common.
I heard about her and I was quite curious.
For starters, she was part of our group
and she was the only girl.
I reckon every single one of the boys
fell in love with her, at some point.
But she chose me.
Oh, Sbastien! Well, that's Adam!
We go back to the first man.
Sbastien is the Book of Genesis.
It all started with him.
If I had to sum up our love story
in a couple words,
I'd say "first love".
When I first arrived
to that big high-school in Paris
I definitely didn't fit the profile.
I came from the Parisian suburbs,
I was an outsider.
I wasn't particularly serene,
but I guess teenagers rarely are.
The only way to stand out, for me,
was acting like a clown.
I think that's what she liked.
Ladies and gentlemen, good evening.
You joking?
Genius.
Hello, camera!
If I think about her,
I think of the first time we held hands.
We'd been looking at each other
for a while.
We were getting closer and our friendship
was becoming something more.
I think it was during a History class.
I wasn't paying attention.
I can't remember who made the first move,
but our hands touched lightly
under the table.
Eventually, we held our hands.
It happened little by little.
My heart was pounding.
That's the memory I treasure the most.
That moment.
She and I,
holding our hands in secret.
Just the two of us.
"Monday. March 9, 1992.
My dear Chlo,
I'm writing to you, as promised,
but I don't know where to start.
I want to assure you I had a great summer.
Even if I'm sorry
we aren't dating anymore,
I'm happy we're still friends.
I think of you a lot.
I don't know if I should write this,
or still think that,
but I love you.
Sbastien."
I think that was the first time
I experienced a break-up.
Our relationship
had arrived to a dead end, somehow,
but not for me.
On the day of her 17th birthday,
it happened.
We got back together.
We made love
and I know it was her first time.
Our love story was made up of two phases.
The first year,
I loved her and she didn't love me.
The following year, it was the opposite.
She was in love with me
and I didn't know how to handle it.
She was the personification of attachment.
She was so clingy.
Kidnap me!
Oh, my God! You want me to kidnap you?
Please!
- I can't!
- Why not?
It was tricky.
I wanted to hang with my friends,
but she would follow me wherever I went.
If we wanted to meet without her,
we basically had to do it in secret.
It was unbearable.
It was over.
I guess I didn't say much.
That's how I do.
I must have let the situation deteriorate.
I must have let it die out,
so she came to talk to me.
She said something like,
"What's happening to us?".
I must have looked down,
going like, "Nothing's wrong...".
Yeah.
She must have found the words
I couldn't find myself,
even if I wanted to.
If someone asked me
to think about a friend of mine
who could make a movie
on his or her life,
I would mention her straight away,
obviously.
I'm jealous of what she's up to, but...
I would never dare to ask.
It's crazy she feels entitled to ask us.
However, once she asked,
it was impossible to say no.
That's the trap,
the "moral trap" behind this request.
That's what she did in those years.
She documented her love life.
She filmed every moment,
she kept every object,
she was taking pictures all the time.
In cafs, bars, restaurants,
during a trip, in the car.
She always had her camera with her.
That was pretty strange, back then.
She always wanted to seize the moment.
To catch the moment, to grab it.
Clearly, there's a freaky side to
this obsession for recording everything.
Often, when I'm at her place
talking or doing stuff,
at a certain point
I realise she's filming me.
I remember I felt very embarrassed
by the presence of the camera.
It was a little objectifying.
A form of fetishism.
I remember her holding her camera.
Her camcorder, actually.
Small cameras
were just starting to spread.
She was using hers all the time.
I'm sure that
what makes someone perfect...
You're perfect
when you accept yourself as you are.
Accepting yourself means being unhappy.
- Why? I don't get it.
- Being at ease with yourself is very hard.
There's some things you can't accept.
I accept everything.
We met in preparatory class,
just after high school.
We were 18 years old.
We immediately got along.
I wanted to be a good student,
and yet, I wanted to show
all of those good students
that I couldn't care less
if I wasn't as good as them.
Go for it, Jeanne!
Dummies!
We were a gang, we were always together.
We would spend the weekends at her place.
We weren't eating that well.
We were watching movies.
We danced.
Her parents weren't home.
We could do whatever we wanted.
Joking, smoking, drinking gin and tonics.
Do you feel you're fragile?
No. I may be wrong,
but I don't feel I'm fragile.
Don't you think
being fragile makes you tough?
That's a Chlo Barreau kind of question!
I don't know. Maybe.
How was that?
I'm tough 'cause I'm fragile?
Did something happen between us?
No.
Anyway,
nothing like a love story.
We were very close friends.
Do you think I'm tough?
Well, you're a snob.
She was going there
without really doing it.
She wasn't completely comfortable
with her thoughts.
Let me announce Chlo's idea.
A two-way psychoanalysis.
In my opinion, it's impossible.
Did you watch
Sex, Lies, and Videotape?
I love that Jeanne is playful.
And I hate that she is.
I love that she's cruel.
And I don't like it.
Everything I love about her,
I also hate.
And everything I hate, I love.
It's annoying!
I wouldn't be surprised
if someone told her,
"You like girls."
And that she answered,
"No way, why are you saying that?".
Even if she'd totally understand
where the question came from.
You have an unusual relationship
with Jeanne.
No, really.
I'll answer.
Hello? Yes!
That's also why I wouldn't
say she was in love with me,
or that I rejected her.
She could say I rejected her,
but I never did,
because she never made a move.
I've never found myself in the position
of rejecting her.
I'm crazy about her
I only have eyes for her
My house,
my Eiffel Tower
However, I clearly remember an event.
I was going to spend the night
at her place.
I was going to sleep in her bed.
Before we fell asleep she asked me,
"Do you think I've been in love with you?"
I thought, "Shit. She's asking this
just before sleeping.
And I'm sleeping in her bed.
I'm not gonna sleep well."
So I answered, "Well, yeah".
She went, "I think you're right".
I said, "Yep".
I couldn't sleep. I slept like this.
It's fucking annoying.
I feel troubled by...
You know?
Plus, I can't help but thinking
she's got a problem with me.
I don't know. Sometimes I wonder,
"What's wrong with me?"
Do you think I'm not normal?
"Paris. April 1, 1996.
No, this letter isn't an April Fools' joke
and please don't consider it as a favour.
Don't think my attentive,
kind gestures towards you
are something extraordinary or miraculous.
At times, our relationship may have seemed
cold and distant to you,
but you should start
confiding in my affection for you.
The passionate kind of friendship
you seem to aspire to
can only lead to a disaster.
Our clashes have been
a clear evidence of it.
I'd rather our friendship to be 'easy'
and long-lasting.
It may seem strange,
but I want it to last.
I won't say it twice.
Just so you know.
Jeanne."
- Oh, my God.
- It's good you came!
- Fuck, my psychologist will be happy.
- There you go!
I like talking about her.
About my experience with her.
When people ask,
"Ever been with a woman?", I say yes.
I've been with her.
The first thing that comes to my mind
thinking of her
is the look in her eyes.
I remember her laugh very well,
and her gestures.
The way she moved her hands as she spoke.
She had a weird way of speaking,
making many mistakes.
It was very funny.
Anyway, she wasn't an angel.
A young love.
That's what I'd call it. A young love.
A great love story.
I couldn't say.
An unfulfilled promise.
We could call it that, yes.
Hi, it's Chlo.
I'm not home.
Leave a message and I'll call you back.
The beginning of our relationship
is totally blurry for me.
It wasn't a dazzling,
unexpected encounter.
It wasn't magic, either, like,
"Their eyes met..."
It wasn't love at first sight.
Rather, it was a sort of controlled skid.
I was always the last to leave
when we had a party.
You could have a fling with Kram
or something.
It's not spicy enough.
Kissing Julien isn't enough
for a successful screenplay.
Kissing who?
Should I get naked now or later?
This is how it started.
I was a student at the Sorbonne.
Sentimentally speaking,
that was a pretty messy period for me.
Probably I had met her already,
but I can't remember well.
I remember a party, though,
where I saw her again
and found her incredibly pretty.
I remember I danced with her
and I felt something powerful.
Right away.
Well, it was quite obvious
that there was chemistry between us.
It was undeniable.
The only thing I can remember
is that I was dancing with her
and I placed my hand
where her back created a curve, like this.
I thought it was so long,
beautiful and elegant.
It was incredible.
It's the only real memory I have of that.
Surprisingly,
I can't remember where we were.
We must have been at someone's place.
Whose?
No clue.
She was living alone
and I was still living with my parents.
I discovered a new life
that started at 10 pm.
I used to sleep at that time, before.
I'd wear my roller skates
and I'd go see her in the dead of night.
Hey!
- How is it going?
- All good?
Would you like a drink?
We would simply show up.
The door was always unlocked,
we'd entered without knocking.
She was dating another guy.
I didn't know much about her love life.
I guess there were other people,
but I didn't know much.
She wasn't telling me everything.
She was seeing many other people
while we were together.
Whatever she did with all those people
who adored her,
it was her own business.
I didn't care.
Maybe you will cut this.
I have a memory...
that has been very important to me.
I remember my pleasure,
and that she told me,
"That's so beautiful!"
"There's nothing as beautiful as this."
There. That was my memory.
I had no idea it was her first time
with a girl.
With her, I often had the impression
that the best things
were always happening unexpectedly.
Just like that.
We didn't really have dates,
it's more like things were just happening.
There was an unease about her
and a sort of ambiguity.
Some unfinished business
that tormented her,
troubled her, bothered her.
That was a lot of personal introspection.
The boundary between what love was
and what wasn't
wasn't very clear to me.
Yes.
I couldn't say
when our relationship started.
However, I could be very precise
in determining when it ended.
One day she asked me, "Do you love me?"
What an absurd idea.
I answered bluntly,
"No."
Hanging out with boys was very easy.
We would meet a few times
and see if it worked between us or not.
I didn't give it much thought.
However, with her it was
way more complicated than that.
It was as if I was taking a huge risk.
She was intellectualizing everything
so much,
that eventually she just needed to know.
She didn't understand
that it wasn't a novel.
We simply needed to live our relationship.
It was in that moment, probably,
that something else started,
something deeper and more sincere.
"Sweet, beautiful girl.
Dear lover of a few hours.
Dearest, whom I don't know yet.
Yes, I'm already drunk,
and I'm writing to you."
"For a long time, my relationships
have been very calm."
Then, your little pretty face
landed in the middle of this peace.
I'm glad you did."
"I lack the courage of locking myself away
waiting for you."
It's something I couldn't do,
whatever the reason."
"I have openly criticized you,
I hid things from you,"
I've been mad at you.
What I don't understand is the fact
you try to appear indifferent."
"What do I want with you?
Nothing."
A happy recklessness.
I can't do that and neither can you."
"My feelings for you haven't changed."
I'm still very attached to this little
girl with her shy and malicious face."
"Somewhere in the world there's still
your breasts, your eyes, your face.
That's what matters."
"This is not a declaration of love,
just a clarification."
Kisses.
Laurent."
"Goodbye, you pretty girl.
My phone's disconnected.
Holidays are approaching.
But when I will see you again
we will smile.
Ariane."
I love the passing of time.
I love the patina of time on furniture,
on people, on bodies.
The past is an interesting object.
I find the past to be
more mysterious than the future.
However,
I can't remember my own past.
I think about it very often.
I write about it, I sing about it.
I'm constantly facing it.
I don't forget many things.
I'm definitely not a nostalgic.
If I'm thinking back to my past,
it's often because I'm forced to do so.
As it is the case now.
I believe nostalgia
is a beautiful feeling.
A very noble one.
It allows us to go back to
moments in our past
as honestly as possible, without filters.
It's a way to truly
be aligned with yourself.
I decided to consider my memories
the way I consider my imagination.
I'm sure it works the same way.
We make up our past.
It's like a mysterious continent.
Sometimes I'm interested in it,
other times I'm not.
I don't have a fetish
for my autobiography.
This bothers me so much.
I'm doing it, but I don't want to!
This is a particular event in my love life
as it was unexpected.
I clearly remember the first time
we spent the night together,
as my only experience
with a woman has been with her.
I couldn't determine
when our first contact was.
There was an affectionate, sweet,
loving atmosphere with her.
Since a long time. She's very sweet.
Because of her age,
as she was a friend of my older sister,
I looked at her like... how could I say?
She was older.
She's maybe
three or four years older than me.
That was a lot to me.
Rebecca?
It was later on,
after I finished high school,
the year I turned 18,
that we met again and became closer.
Our love story started that summer
and it lasted for a year or maybe two.
Did you tell someone about us?
About what?
About all this.
All of it?
Yeah, I told you already.
I told Nathalie.
Didn't she say it's wrong?
No, she said...
"Bitch, I thought
you were gonna do it with me!"
That's what she said, I swear.
She lived in front of a church
of ultra-conservative Catholics
who celebrated mass in Latin.
And she was a young woman
having lesbian relationships in her house,
so that was quite ironic.
That's Hugo, behind the window.
Recalling that period I realise
I spent that year thinking about love!
I danced with her.
This woman's dance was made up of writing,
talking about literature,
living in an intense, constant drama.
So I got in tune with her.
I feel like we were somehow
matching musically,
so much
that I adopted her way of functioning.
There's even a moment when
Marcel is attending a reception
hosted by the Prince de Guermantes.
Oriane de Guermantes arrives
and as the Duchesse de Guermantes'
eyes shine at every party,
he says something beautiful, he says...
Huh?
He says...
What?
Your hand.
Her eyes are shining.
He says: "She lit up her eyes
for the whole night."
"She lit up her eyes for the whole night."
I felt 'seen' by her love.
This was...
She saw something in me
I couldn't see myself.
This gave me so much strength,
even for my following relationships.
It's true.
My sister opened some letters
and she came across a love letter.
She told me
it had disturbed her.
She was sad I didn't tell her.
This secret had been imposed to me,
but I was living our relationship freely.
My father knew about it.
He invited me to his office
a couple times asking about my sexuality.
I answered, "Chill out,
you won't be the father of a lesbian."
He was worried.
But also, there were...
Some people were feeling excluded
by our love.
I believe this allowed her
to have many secret relationships.
She could multiply them.
She was cheating, in fact.
This is why our relationship ended.
She was cheating on many people,
asking every one of them
to keep their relationship secret.
Are you thinking of anyone in particular?
I'm thinking of Anne.
I'm referring to the fact
she cheated on me with Anne.
I can't remember, I couldn't say
if it was love at first sight.
I can't remember in detail.
I can't answer.
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't...
I can't answer,
because I actually can't remember.
I remember that when I met her
and I understood
I was infatuated with her...
it was done.
I was receiving a gift
and I was going to live it
with simplicity.
That year I was following
preparatory classes in Lyce Fnelon.
I must have been 19 years old.
I met her through a mutual friend,
Rebecca.
Rebecca was my classmate
and she was her flatmate.
She was working back then.
She was independent
and this really impressed us.
To me, really, she represented...
freedom.
We travelled together.
We visited Italy.
We wrote a lot.
We smoked a lot, we drank too much coffee.
We read to each other
The Man Who Laughs, by Victor Hugo.
We read it aloud,
from the first word to the last.
Just think how many hours that takes.
Life should always be like this,
we should never stop.
We were in a state
of receptiveness to the world,
it was so vibrant.
Like a music always playing,
from the moment we woke up
to the moment we went to sleep.
Let's make a short film.
I'm so in, girl!
Pitch me your ideas.
I'll tell you something.
Oh, no!
Stop it, I can't talk
while looking at myself, it's horrible.
When I think about this relationship
I feel like I'm drunk.
It is both pleasant and unpleasant.
Because...
when you're drunk, it always ends badly.
Probably what was annoying me
was all that emphasis.
The romanticism.
The fact she was in love with love itself.
Her obsession with love
is a whole thing.
When she's passionate, she's omnipresent.
That's terrorism.
When she enters your life, it's an attack.
I don't know if it's an indecent assault,
but it surely is an assault.
Later on, after we went on with our lives,
Whenever we met, we made love.
Because we felt good together
and we knew there was no commitment.
That's not being flighty, at all.
Being flighty is something else.
Rather, she was...
she was following
one passion after the other.
That's why she scared me a little.
She considered love
in a very romantic way,
as if love justifies anything.
She hurt many people.
I remember she hurt the people around her.
It wasn't harmless.
Her actions were not harmless.
Yes. Yes, well.
When you're in love, it would be stupid
to prevent your body from loving.
We don't have our bodies for long.
And when...
when you're in your prime,
when everything's easy,
would you repress that?
By what right? In the name of what?
Of course, I was very much in love.
I mean... I was completely in love.
Like a child could be in love.
And it's...
it's because my love stemmed
from such a pure drive
that the appearance of the lie was so...
so brutal.
She knows
she is having a love affair with Anne.
At that time I didn't know that.
The apartment had an 'L' shape,
with a TV in the corner.
It had a reflecting surface.
Maybe that's where my passion
for cinema comes from.
I was about to fall asleep
and I noticed they kept on talking.
We would always sleep
at each other's place in that period.
It was around 5 or 6 am.
I went to bed
and I saw they were still together.
Then I told myself,
"Weird. I can't hear them anymore".
So I got up and I saw,
in the reflection of the television,
that they were kissing.
I thought,
"Unbelievable. Is that a kiss?".
Yes, it was.
I got off the bed.
I'm not the jealous type, but I thought,
"That's perverse. That's weird."
Maybe our story was already over.
We weren't a couple anymore,
but I was still living there.
That has to be what happened, I think.
That was it.
It was a moment marked by infidelity.
We can hurt each other in love,
but there are consequences.
As a consequence,
we're not friends anymore.
But sometimes lovers can become friends.
It's crazy,
it sounds like I'm still mad at her.
It was over in a few hours.
However, I remember
those hours very precisely.
It was very easy for me to accept
the idea of being with a girl.
It wasn't embarrassing for me, at all.
But I felt that for her it was.
She told me that it was her first time.
And then, one night,
I understood that wasn't true.
I felt like an idiot.
I didn't see what was just before my eyes.
The following day, I went to see her.
I was very angry.
I told her she had been lying to me,
and I couldn't understand why.
Putting on an act
saying it was her first time...
So I gathered my things,
all the letters I'd wrote her,
our pictures...
I took everything and I left.
I never spoke to her again.
That was 25 years ago.
So you two haven't talked again
for the last 25 years?
No, never.
There is the first love
and there's the first heartbreak.
That was her first heartbreak, I reckon.
I met her at the time
I had just arrived in Paris.
Everything was so beautiful.
The streets, the bars, the bookshops,
the elegant people.
I was the Canadian, the newcomer.
I was working for the Ambassy.
I was happy as a lark.
I would go to a bar on Rue Mouffetard
every night,
wearing my three-piece suit
and my bow tie.
And I would read, read, read.
She was sitting at her table
with a gang of friends, of course.
It was impossible not to notice her.
She looked at me.
She waited for it to settle.
She invited me to her table
as if she was challenging me.
It happened instantly.
That night, from the moment
she looked at me,
it began.
I knew I was screwed.
Look how handsome he is!
Scat singing and all.
Writing poems.
He likes Nina Simone.
He's nice, he's adorable and...
And he's a faggot.
I have fallen in love with women.
I consider myself gay,
but that doesn't mean
I have to put a limit to my desire,
to how I love, or to who I love.
So I have loved women, on a few occasions.
I was in love with a boy from the area,
back then.
He was so beautiful,
so intelligent, so kind.
And so heterosexual, it was depressing.
I had been rejected.
She was dealing with a heartbreak.
So we comforted each other.
It was always an adventure.
We would go to the countryside,
or take the Palatino Express train
and go to Rome.
Here we are in Rome.
We were part of a huge group.
- Keep some battery!
- Yes!
We would sleep anywhere.
Some people were musicians,
others we didn't know that well.
You never knew, with her.
The same went for me, anyway.
I clearly remember the first time we met.
I was going back home one evening
and there was a bar with a terrace
just down the road.
One evening,
she followed me
until the beginning of my road,
but that wasn't creepy or anything.
She invited me to have a drink
and I accepted.
There you go.
Can I have it back? Thank you.
I saw her as I see her today.
I saw someone who was very... intense.
Someone who had this sort of urge...
an urge to live.
I saw someone who needed to seduce
as much as she needed to breathe.
That's how she meets people.
I can't picture the moment
Anna and her met.
She can be very discrete.
She could rob a trailer truck
in front everybody
and no one would notice.
Later that night, she followed me.
She came at my place. She took the risk.
And we weren't alone.
The three of us ended up at Anna's place,
on Passage des postes.
And I was so naive,
I didn't understand what she was plotting.
Until, at some point, I understood that...
that I had to leave.
We spent the night together.
I remember the following morning
very well.
She was agitated.
She was almost feverish, on the streets.
She didn't want to touch me.
It was as if our experience...
was somehow shameful.
That wasn't absolutely the case for me.
I think it's also because
it was a forbidden love.
She found it thrilling.
I believe that back then
she started to understand that her desire
was mainly directed towards women.
In her mind, loving women openly
wasn't possible.
She lied. She loved lying.
If you impose secrecy on everyone,
you push away
those you should get closer to.
Asking everyone to keep the secret
is an abuse of power.
Did she have an affair with Rebecca?
I didn't know.
- You never knew.
- I didn't.
I would have never suspected it,
and I never heard of it.
I knew nothing about her previous
experiences with other women.
I knew about the men, but she always said
I was the first woman.
She's a liar, I'm telling you.
She will always say,
"you're the one and only".
I never understood why she would lie.
Why would she lie?
"August 28, 1999.
Dear Chlo,
it's the middle of the night
and I can't stop thinking
about our conversation.
Rome is calling.
Never let your laughter
be carried away by sadness.
Freedom isn't something you receive.
It's something you take.
Take it.
The Vatican can say whatever they want,
but Antinoo's statue, the body of a man
who was loved by an emperor,
still decorate the hall of its museums.
Rome is calling.
I miss you already.
Jean-Philippe."
I had no idea she was leaving
to escape from something.
I basically met her
the day before she left.
That's beautiful.
And it's beautiful that it happened
this way,
with her doubts and her fears.
I guess she came from a past
where she had experienced conflict,
she was familiar with it.
I told myself she was escaping to Italy
because she'd screwed up in Paris.
She must have thought,
"Well, what now? Run away!"
Just like a literary character going,
"My scene here is over, I'll go that way."
She went on a sentimental exile in Italy
and she never came back.
You may call it 'an escape', but I'd wish
everybody an escape to the Eternal City.
It's where the Vatican is.
If you're looking for what's forbidden,
well...
"Paris, September 22, 1999.
Chlo,
I'm thinking of you,
despite my scattered ideas.
I restrain my light-heartedness,
dreaming I'll visit you in the weekend.
A music, a siren song, an urge
violently nourishing my desire
for Rome and for more.
I like to take care of you
somewhere in my heart.
Between presence and absence, fantasies.
A contemplative, meditative gaze
that gets me lost in tenderness.
I hope my prudence
will not seem cold to you.
It's just a rhythm to take on,
a skill to master.
Kisses,
with love,
Anna."
When I think of her...
I think of her loving eyes.
I think of lust,
because she's very passionate.
I could see she wanted me.
I remember her staring at me.
I think of our first time,
the way she brought me home.
The way she seduced me.
We would meet once a month,
or once every six months.
She was my lover.
I remember that I wished
every time was the last.
But we would meet again, often,
for what I expect a relationship
with a woman to be, at least.
She had a way to look at me, to treat me.
She was totally fascinated by me.
So I felt interesting and beautiful.
She made me feel good.
So at one point, I put down my camera
and a guy tells me,
"Look, people in Amsterdam don't like
to be photographed."
I felt embarrassed because I liked her.
It wasn't easy, for me.
At the same time,
I felt like she understood me.
And I was irresistibly attracted by her.
I couldn't resist her.
I can't recall the details,
but I can remember my feelings.
I was terrified.
But I pretended not to be.
You arrive like that, by magic, sometimes.
You bring me away,
you throw me into the sea.
A movie-like kiss.
No, please. I'm drunk!
It feels like you can't hide.
When you're with a man,
there's a certain mystery about you.
There's something
men will never understand.
This makes you strong.
It's like having a gun
hidden under your jacket.
No one knows that.
But when you're with a woman,
you can't hide.
You have to face yourself.
I felt more vulnerable.
Deep down,
I knew it was never going to work.
I would never be brave enough
to fully enjoy our relationship.
In hindsight, reconsidering it,
no one would've judged me,
not even my mother.
It was all in my head.
Feeling ashamed was pretty common.
We also felt we were at risk,
we risked being beaten up.
We were perfectly aware
of the power of homophobia.
The law about civil marriages
is being discussed.
Some deputies give four-hours
marathon speeches in Parliament,
saying we will be the end of Family.
And if that wasn't enough,
the end of Civilization.
And if that wasn't enough,
the end of humankind.
Hordes of married homosexuals
will invade the French territory.
Lesbians were a kind of scary creature
for me, back then.
Something like...
a circus animal, something odd.
I didn't tell my parents I was gay.
I was scared they would reject me,
that they wouldn't love me anymore.
So I preferred to keep it a secret.
I was definitely heterosexual.
I would have never imagined
I was going to have a future with women.
I wanted to try with a girl,
but I honestly believed
it was just
a new experience for me to try.
I was wondering, "My God,
where am I going to find a lesbian?"
I didn't know any.
You couldn't see them in movies.
The first time I saw two women kissing
was in Mulholland Drive.
I dragged my boyfriend
to watch it five times, I was obsessed!
But there weren't any around.
I was in Rome, abroad. I had a life.
I was free to be myself
without having to apologize,
or disappointing someone.
And I could be loved.
The majority of gays and lesbians
of my generation went away.
Those who lived in small towns
left for the big cities.
Those who lived in big cities
went elsewhere.
In those crazy years,
we were all on a self-discovery journey.
We were out very late. Like, until dawn.
I remember lots of alcohol,
lots of joints,
lots of parties, lots of music.
Many people, many faces.
I was a lazy student when I met her.
I was on an Erasmus programme in Rome.
I was way more naive than I thought I was.
I was hanging out
at the bar she was working in.
That's where it all started, in February.
I saw this kind of elf.
I was shocked.
As if someone stole your voice
and at the same time
you feel so vulnerable.
It's a visceral feeling.
As if someone pulled you
by the neck, by the stomach,
and it all implodes
and you're left there, in that moment.
The rest of the world
becomes merely the background
to your powerful feelings.
Yes.
She didn't even notice me.
I know one thing.
You liked this flab.
'Flab', can you say that?
If I hadn't been
totally enraptured by her,
I would have thought she was ridiculous.
But it was love at first sight for me,
so I was a hopeless case.
I dived headfirst into that relationship.
The first night
we walked from the Stardust to her place.
I was intimidated by the beauty of Rome
almost as much as I was intimidated
by her beauty.
This synergism
between the person and the city
marked the beginning of our relationship.
I was taking in all of this beauty
almost by osmosis.
It was bigger than myself.
I ended up at her place.
Her apartment was at the top floor.
It was full of books
posters of films I didn't know,
but I pretended to know.
I kept telling myself,
"Talk, be interesting."
I was so nervous.
Suddenly, she grabbed my face and said,
"I'm not a lesbian".
I answered, "Ahem... Neither am I".
She kissed me, then we made love.
Clearly, we were both lesbians.
In our friend group
they have always been 'The couple',
probably.
I spent so much time with them,
in their house.
We lived so many things together.
Marina is worried.
Then I went back to London.
I was desperate.
I had to finish
my last year at university.
We were apart, but we were still together.
We would write many letters.
I finished that year at university
and I went back to Rome in June.
And... yes.
I understood that during the year
we'd been apart
she'd been having affairs
with other people.
Alright, she was unfaithful.
I believe it's pretty normal.
Long-distance relationships
are somehow made for this.
It goes without saying.
Having a long-distance relationship,
where you see your partner once a month,
you know...
I didn't make much of it, honestly.
I never felt like I had to tell Marina.
Why the fuck would I?
I was upset, I guess.
I was dying.
So I understood I loved her.
But that was the first time for me.
The first time that love
meant being in pain, panicking.
Feeling insecure.
I thought we were on the same page.
It was so painful.
After being with her,
I had short relationships.
But anytime one would end,
I would call her.
And we would meet.
She was always available.
But she was very much in love
with a girl, at a certain point.
I wanted to be with her anyway.
I was in love.
I was hurting a lot.
But...
despite what happened, we made it work.
Our love story was beautiful.
Our relationship lasted
three or four years more.
She's a beautiful person
to live the world with.
If I manage, Chelsea wins.
Chelsea wins! Chelsea wins!
Being in love is one thing,
loving is another.
Those looks...
When you don't need any words,
but you exchange a look and you know
you're thinking the same thing.
There were so many moments like this.
And also...
It's weird how big moments
were near-death experiences.
For example, we had a stomach flu once...
You know it's love
when you see diarrhoea and vomit
coming out of that person
at the same time.
That's love.
Yes.
I wish I could be
Stronger than any doubt
But I can't settle for this
If all you can offer me
Is a plastic love
But I can't settle for this
If all you can offer me
Is a plastic love
Bye.
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't.
There was so much... jealousy.
We never had a confrontation,
a conversation to break up.
I didn't even have that conversation
with myself.
I felt I was grieving
and it was very physical,
as it happens
at the end of any relationship.
It's that burden you're carrying
wherever you go.
It's so tiring to drag it around.
It was just so clear to me.
I didn't want to be with her anymore.
I felt I needed to leave.
I wanted to go back to England.
I packed my bags and I left, alone.
And in England I stayed.
I left, but I couldn't bring myself
to break up with her.
Yeah.
"Thank you for everything, my love.
For revealing yourself to me completely,
whole, with no pretence.
Above all, thank you for wanting me.
I'm crying on the train now.
I'm sad.
I have to close my eyes
to see us being happy again.
I can't ask you to love me
when I am the one leaving,
but you have to give me my freedom back.
The freedom I have denied you before.
I need to tell myself
that I can make it without you
and we can't be happy together anymore.
The happiest moments in my life
have been with you.
You have seen Marina drunk with happiness.
I would like some more of that,
but I'm not getting any from us."
She took it badly.
She took it quite badly.
It was one of those circumstances
where you can't react,
but also, you're magnifying your problems.
In turn,
I had just broken up with my girlfriend.
We were probably both feeling down
in that moment.
About a year later
we'd gone out,
we'd been drinking and smoking weed.
I don't remember exactly.
I'm perfectly fine.
Like a thousand times before,
I went to sleep at her place.
We had fallen asleep together
thousands of times.
Still, that time...
it happened.
We kissed.
We had already kissed on other occasions.
But that time
we really kissed.
And then it happened.
It was totally unexpected.
It was crazy.
It was also strange,
as we were friends by then.
Very good friends.
After that, we started having an affair.
She and I.
We dated for a few months, in secret.
I didn't tell anyone at the time,
nor did I do it in all these years.
It's the first time I'm saying it.
Are Chlo's parents going to watch this?
Well, yes. I mean.
But you know...
Oh, damn.
When I think about it...
I think back to...
I think of her incredible waistline,
for sure.
It's always the first thing I recall.
Yes, I remember her body very well.
I remember it precisely.
Those images are still very clear.
I remember the physical sensations,
of course.
More than other bodies, for that matter.
If I had to think of an image...
It would be a scent, actually.
Her perfume.
I can't talk about my sexual life
in front of a camera.
I'm not refusing categorically
or ethically,
it's just that in this situation, here,
I don't feel like talking
about my sexual life.
It's true.
That's the way I was raised.
Even if I can...
I'm French. We always
end up talking about love and sex.
But you need to know the people first.
The urge of being close to her,
naked,
losing myself in her body,
in the moment.
At the beginning of a relationship,
this knows no limits.
You would give everything,
even your nails.
"I'm here, take all of me."
"It's not enough, I want all of you."
When you do something
SO...
I mean, I remember that...
I would be kissing her tits,
or looking at her body
and in doing so I would think,
"Oh, my God.
I never thought I'd get here."
It's like landing in a new country
and saying,
"Wow, that's beautiful."
Has this been here all the time
and I didn't know?
Why didn't I come sooner?
How can this not be normal?"
I learnt that friendships with benefits
have an expiration date.
At the very least,
one of the two starts to wonder,
"So, what are we?"
In that case, it was her.
I don't know if she was more into it,
or more confused.
I didn't know how to act.
I didn't know what to do.
This forbidden experience
wasn't that exciting anymore.
I wanted to go back being friends.
So, naturally, we started
seeing each other less often.
"Hi Chloe,
I heard you were offered a job in Paris
and you're leaving soon.
I didn't hear it from you.
On the one hand, it's normal, considering
the fact we're not talking as much.
On the other hand,
I'm extremely sorry about that.
In other circumstances, we would've
discussed it drinking a glass of wine.
I would have said I was happy for you.
We would have celebrated until dawn.
Everything I can think of right now
is that I miss that period.
That glass of wine in Trastevere.
I miss my friend.
Goodbye, Chlo.
I'm not wishing you good luck,
because you don't need it.
I already know
you will kick asses in Paris.
Stay cool.
Marco."
I get emotional
because I remember my younger self,
who didn't know how to write a letter.
I travelled to Paris for work
and I met her.
I remember she said,
"Yes, let's meet in Le Marais!"
I thought,
"Damn, I'm going to see my lover".
I was ready to make love to her,
to kiss her or whatever.
I was ready for anything.
Instead, she showed up with her woman.
I thought, "Wow, alright".
This was my very first adult relationship.
A mature, serious one, I mean.
So that was the first time I faced
the big problem every couple faces.
I met her in a moment of my life
where I was very confused.
I was starting to understand
I really liked girls.
It wasn't just a passing phase.
I was going out a lot.
I was in my thirties.
I wanted to have a real love story,
but all I could find was shitty flings.
I'm Parisian now
I'm pushing myself too hard
And I know about distress,
about blues and stress
Finally, I'm acquainting myself
with ecology
And away from the pollution,
I'll be shearing sheep
And away from the pollution,
I'll be shearing sheep
It wasn't love at first sight, for me.
Even if I usually
fall in love very quickly.
Too often, I'm afraid.
In fact, I realized that our relationship
didn't begin out of an instinct,
I didn't rush into it.
My feelings developed with time.
Somehow, I must have perceived
that she knew how to handle me.
Don't make me look stupid, my love.
- Take a picture of the flower, not of me.
- Blow it.
Are you taking a video?
That would be sneaky.
I had cut all ties with my family
before meeting her.
I had two suitcases,
one for winter and one for summer.
If I bought something,
I had to throw something else away
to keep on wandering with my suitcases.
I would always ask myself,
"Where should I live?".
With her, I finally found a home.
I put my suitcases down.
Those four years were very intense.
So many things come to my mind.
The day we met,
our first night together.
When we decided to live together.
The cities we lived in.
Paris, Rome, and especially Barcelona.
She surrounded me with her love.
Suddenly,
someone created a universe for me.
I guess that, without noticing,
I started depending on her.
Those were the things I was scared to lose
when I lost her.
When our relationship ended.
In her dream, she saw the empty house.
The rooms were empty.
The carpets were rolled up-
Stop it, Chlo.
Then, what happens in any relationship
happened between us as well.
We all struggle to find a solution.
I'm referring to the fact that
our honeymoon phase ended
and we got into a routine.
When you get to the point
you don't kiss each other as much,
maybe just every two or three days,
and you start feeling anxious
because you won't admit it,
but you know the magic is going away.
But I would have never imagined
our story was about to end.
Never.
I met someone.
I met... Marie,
let's call her that.
I got a crush.
I can't remember who else was there,
nor anything in particular
about that event.
I remember we were talking
and she made a gesture...
I didn't know that woman,
I had just met her.
I told her straight away I had just moved
in Barcelona with my girlfriend.
And she made
this absolutely insane gesture.
As we spoke, she caressed my thigh.
Talking and looking into my eyes
as if it was nothing.
It was crazy.
I wondered if I was hallucinating,
but no, she really did it.
So calmly.
It was love at first sight.
I told myself, "Never see her again".
This woman started haunting my thoughts.
I can't say we had an affair,
as every time we met was the last.
But there was always another time.
So I was screwed.
It was difficult for me,
I was a two-headed monster, basically.
I felt so bad for cheating,
because it went against
everything our relationship was.
It was a relationship based on trust
where we supported each other.
Being unfaithful means that you're lying
and many small indignities.
Still, when I went back home,
back to my life, with my partner,
it felt good and I forgot about it.
My life was good.
It's the other thing that became...
the anecdote.
Yet, when I was with Marie
everything was so fascinating,
beautiful, thrilling and loving...
I was in love with her too.
I was in love with one
and I loved the other.
What I didn't know back then,
what I was refusing to see
because I was in denial,
is that it was going to end.
I didn't want to accept that.
I couldn't leave her because I loved her.
Stop filming everything, Chlo.
You're facing a choice that will force you
to be very strong and brave.
You will suffer.
It will be very unpleasant.
In the end, she found out
in a horrible way.
She really didn't see that coming.
It was very hard. It was shocking.
Horrible.
It was as brutal as an accident, for her.
I lost her.
It was a huge failure.
It was the end of everything.
I already saw myself in a dumpster,
drinking beer.
My world was crumbling around me.
It was the end.
She was going back to Rome.
It was so sad.
Later on, Marie and her decided to meet,
because they needed some closure as well.
I agreed to put them in contact.
I thought we needed to close this chapter.
So they met and had a talk,
exchanging secrets.
And indiscretions.
What bothered me was
that it felt like I was on trial.
It was a courthouse where they were
judges and parties.
They had joined forces
and they were revealing our secrets.
It's horrible.
It was over. With both of them.
I decided to cut ties with them,
I couldn't stand it anymore.
It was unbearable.
One day, I was having a beer in a bar
with a friend, in Portugal.
I had a vision, an intuition.
I imagined something absurd.
I had a crazy eureka moment.
Those two were together, that very second.
She said, "No way, you're crazy.
It's impossible, stop it".
I answered, "I'm telling you, trust me".
So I called her that night.
I told her, "I thought something crazy".
I asked her if it was true
and her voice started trembling.
That was tough.
They sat down and talked,
then they got up and went to bed.
That was quite...
That was a double betrayal, in a way.
That was the only malicious act
in our relationship, I guess.
It's difficult for me.
I can't forgive her for that.
Maybe...
When we don't want something to end,
eventually it just explodes.
That was like an explosion.
I'm not like you.
This is something I love about you,
but it makes me upset at the same time.
When you love somebody,
you chop this person up. In a good way.
You objectify the people you love.
- You always think you're so romantic.
- Wait, no.
Listen to me. You're the most romantic
person in the world, aren't you?
You put love first.
Still, you don't put yourself on the same
level as the object of your love.
Because it is an object,
and you're the artist.
It doesn't surprise me, as I believe
she always considered her life
as her work of art.
And she's the memory of our story.
I know that somewhere,
someone remembers of our relationship.
I think she was already making that moment
a sacred one.
And I believe it's wonderful
that she kept all this.
I find it incredible.
Love is the main theme of her life,
I reckon.
I see her as someone
who will forever be in love.
I think she doesn't protect herself,
at all.
She fully lived her love stories.
It's a beautiful project.
I didn't put as much energy and heart
in it as she did.
For sure.
Talking about her
I remember how much
love is important in my life.
We have to ask ourselves about love.
We can't take it for granted.
We should always keep this in mind.
We can't forget our heart is beating.
There's a pact.
A sort of pact of love.
Our relationship
was never about carnal love.
In any case,
it turned into brotherly love.
She saw in me things
that others couldn't see that quickly.
Every time I see her I think,
"She's someone who knows me.
Someone who sees me."
Any prejudice on love
can hold us back,
as we try and live our love stories
the way we think they should be lived.
I know many people who say
that since they got hurt,
they will never love again.
I find it terrible.
It's terrible.
I think that the more we love,
the more we love.
We only have one life.
And it's important to say
how much we love each other,
that it wasn't in vain,
it doesn't all just disappear.
This love story is
what taught me how to love.
I learned who I am, how I love.
I learned how important it is to forgive.
To be indulgent.
So, thank you.
I am thankful.
We really loved each other.
We truly believed
it was going to be forever.
In a way, we were right.
But not the way we thought.
After all, our love was true.
That's essential, I think.
Yes.
We all need an archivist.
Our lives were so ordinary,
lost among millions of other lives.
Someone was there
so that one day we could say
we existed.
Obviously, time has stopped.
No more soft steps,
no more steep trails.
No more whispers in the night.
Sometimes, I'm overwhelmed
by an uncontrollable desire
to listen to your voice.
So I start crying
until sleep overcomes me.
This morning, in tears, I went back over
the film of all those years.
Starting from the beginning, of course.
Our first night together,
before I left a different person,
leaving my heart behind.
I remember the first time I suffered
and the nights we spent comforting
each other in my small apartment.
The words we exchanged.
Our shining eyes.
We couldn't stop touching each other
and kissing.
I wanted that moment to last forever.
Our clandestine getaways,
in the secret of our love.
The trips we would spend
learning about freedom.
The intermittences of the heart.
The evidence of meeting you.
Our electric kisses
that threw me into the sea.
The stolen glances.
My exposed body.
The signs you left on it.
The strength of your friendship.
I remember when we were so in love
we would hike in Corsica.
I remember that time
when our future was clear.
I was your treasure and you were mine.
We were so in love.
What happened between us?
Why couldn't we do better?
We had love.
A big, beautiful love.
All of this has existed.
The emptiness, the wounds,
I forgot all about that.
I won't let anything or anyone
ever ruin what we have been.
You'll always be a part
of whatever time I have left.
Never forget who I am
and how much I love you.
Last letter is from Caroline.
I thank her for lending me her words.
I don't know if...
if I want to love or be loved.
I guess it's the same thing, after all.
FRAGMENTS OF A LIFE LOVED
Who do our memories belong to?
I mean, when people divorce or split up.
Do we own our memories?
We don't.
Can we prevent someone
from having memories of us?
We can't.
We all make some small gestures
that originally didn't belong to us.
We had to love deeply
to make them our own.
That's how we learn how to move.
It's...
It's for love.
Love has opened up my soul and my eyes
more than anything else.
I haven't had that many,
but I did have some.
And by the way, let's face it.
This "one true love" doesn't exist,
the one you can't lose,
because there won't be another.
It's completely false. Luckily.
I had many love stories.
Some of them weren't love stories.
But I consider time in relation to love.
My personal chronology
is based on romance,
more than in years or career achievements.
A love story doesn't just end one day
when you say, "It's over".
I have never been able
to break up with someone.
All of my exes were invited to my wedding.
SONY
ROME asw 99 J. Phi / Kim / Nadia
O
I never speak with my ex-girlfriends.
I think they hate me.
You know?
A couple of them hate me,
I'm sure of that.
I guess the others do too.
It's not something I hide
or that I somehow belittle.
Teen love shouldn't be...
shouldn't be considered
as being less significant.
I could say it's the opposite.
Our high-school was in the Latin Quarter.
We could have been in any high-school,
in any region in France.
It would've been the same.
We were students.
We needed to get out, to dream, to love.
We were teenagers
and those years are so powerful.
She was a friend of my older sister's.
I think the first time I met her
I must have been 14 or 15.
We had some mutual friends.
She was popular in high-school
and we had friends in common.
I heard about her and I was quite curious.
For starters, she was part of our group
and she was the only girl.
I reckon every single one of the boys
fell in love with her, at some point.
But she chose me.
Oh, Sbastien! Well, that's Adam!
We go back to the first man.
Sbastien is the Book of Genesis.
It all started with him.
If I had to sum up our love story
in a couple words,
I'd say "first love".
When I first arrived
to that big high-school in Paris
I definitely didn't fit the profile.
I came from the Parisian suburbs,
I was an outsider.
I wasn't particularly serene,
but I guess teenagers rarely are.
The only way to stand out, for me,
was acting like a clown.
I think that's what she liked.
Ladies and gentlemen, good evening.
You joking?
Genius.
Hello, camera!
If I think about her,
I think of the first time we held hands.
We'd been looking at each other
for a while.
We were getting closer and our friendship
was becoming something more.
I think it was during a History class.
I wasn't paying attention.
I can't remember who made the first move,
but our hands touched lightly
under the table.
Eventually, we held our hands.
It happened little by little.
My heart was pounding.
That's the memory I treasure the most.
That moment.
She and I,
holding our hands in secret.
Just the two of us.
"Monday. March 9, 1992.
My dear Chlo,
I'm writing to you, as promised,
but I don't know where to start.
I want to assure you I had a great summer.
Even if I'm sorry
we aren't dating anymore,
I'm happy we're still friends.
I think of you a lot.
I don't know if I should write this,
or still think that,
but I love you.
Sbastien."
I think that was the first time
I experienced a break-up.
Our relationship
had arrived to a dead end, somehow,
but not for me.
On the day of her 17th birthday,
it happened.
We got back together.
We made love
and I know it was her first time.
Our love story was made up of two phases.
The first year,
I loved her and she didn't love me.
The following year, it was the opposite.
She was in love with me
and I didn't know how to handle it.
She was the personification of attachment.
She was so clingy.
Kidnap me!
Oh, my God! You want me to kidnap you?
Please!
- I can't!
- Why not?
It was tricky.
I wanted to hang with my friends,
but she would follow me wherever I went.
If we wanted to meet without her,
we basically had to do it in secret.
It was unbearable.
It was over.
I guess I didn't say much.
That's how I do.
I must have let the situation deteriorate.
I must have let it die out,
so she came to talk to me.
She said something like,
"What's happening to us?".
I must have looked down,
going like, "Nothing's wrong...".
Yeah.
She must have found the words
I couldn't find myself,
even if I wanted to.
If someone asked me
to think about a friend of mine
who could make a movie
on his or her life,
I would mention her straight away,
obviously.
I'm jealous of what she's up to, but...
I would never dare to ask.
It's crazy she feels entitled to ask us.
However, once she asked,
it was impossible to say no.
That's the trap,
the "moral trap" behind this request.
That's what she did in those years.
She documented her love life.
She filmed every moment,
she kept every object,
she was taking pictures all the time.
In cafs, bars, restaurants,
during a trip, in the car.
She always had her camera with her.
That was pretty strange, back then.
She always wanted to seize the moment.
To catch the moment, to grab it.
Clearly, there's a freaky side to
this obsession for recording everything.
Often, when I'm at her place
talking or doing stuff,
at a certain point
I realise she's filming me.
I remember I felt very embarrassed
by the presence of the camera.
It was a little objectifying.
A form of fetishism.
I remember her holding her camera.
Her camcorder, actually.
Small cameras
were just starting to spread.
She was using hers all the time.
I'm sure that
what makes someone perfect...
You're perfect
when you accept yourself as you are.
Accepting yourself means being unhappy.
- Why? I don't get it.
- Being at ease with yourself is very hard.
There's some things you can't accept.
I accept everything.
We met in preparatory class,
just after high school.
We were 18 years old.
We immediately got along.
I wanted to be a good student,
and yet, I wanted to show
all of those good students
that I couldn't care less
if I wasn't as good as them.
Go for it, Jeanne!
Dummies!
We were a gang, we were always together.
We would spend the weekends at her place.
We weren't eating that well.
We were watching movies.
We danced.
Her parents weren't home.
We could do whatever we wanted.
Joking, smoking, drinking gin and tonics.
Do you feel you're fragile?
No. I may be wrong,
but I don't feel I'm fragile.
Don't you think
being fragile makes you tough?
That's a Chlo Barreau kind of question!
I don't know. Maybe.
How was that?
I'm tough 'cause I'm fragile?
Did something happen between us?
No.
Anyway,
nothing like a love story.
We were very close friends.
Do you think I'm tough?
Well, you're a snob.
She was going there
without really doing it.
She wasn't completely comfortable
with her thoughts.
Let me announce Chlo's idea.
A two-way psychoanalysis.
In my opinion, it's impossible.
Did you watch
Sex, Lies, and Videotape?
I love that Jeanne is playful.
And I hate that she is.
I love that she's cruel.
And I don't like it.
Everything I love about her,
I also hate.
And everything I hate, I love.
It's annoying!
I wouldn't be surprised
if someone told her,
"You like girls."
And that she answered,
"No way, why are you saying that?".
Even if she'd totally understand
where the question came from.
You have an unusual relationship
with Jeanne.
No, really.
I'll answer.
Hello? Yes!
That's also why I wouldn't
say she was in love with me,
or that I rejected her.
She could say I rejected her,
but I never did,
because she never made a move.
I've never found myself in the position
of rejecting her.
I'm crazy about her
I only have eyes for her
My house,
my Eiffel Tower
However, I clearly remember an event.
I was going to spend the night
at her place.
I was going to sleep in her bed.
Before we fell asleep she asked me,
"Do you think I've been in love with you?"
I thought, "Shit. She's asking this
just before sleeping.
And I'm sleeping in her bed.
I'm not gonna sleep well."
So I answered, "Well, yeah".
She went, "I think you're right".
I said, "Yep".
I couldn't sleep. I slept like this.
It's fucking annoying.
I feel troubled by...
You know?
Plus, I can't help but thinking
she's got a problem with me.
I don't know. Sometimes I wonder,
"What's wrong with me?"
Do you think I'm not normal?
"Paris. April 1, 1996.
No, this letter isn't an April Fools' joke
and please don't consider it as a favour.
Don't think my attentive,
kind gestures towards you
are something extraordinary or miraculous.
At times, our relationship may have seemed
cold and distant to you,
but you should start
confiding in my affection for you.
The passionate kind of friendship
you seem to aspire to
can only lead to a disaster.
Our clashes have been
a clear evidence of it.
I'd rather our friendship to be 'easy'
and long-lasting.
It may seem strange,
but I want it to last.
I won't say it twice.
Just so you know.
Jeanne."
- Oh, my God.
- It's good you came!
- Fuck, my psychologist will be happy.
- There you go!
I like talking about her.
About my experience with her.
When people ask,
"Ever been with a woman?", I say yes.
I've been with her.
The first thing that comes to my mind
thinking of her
is the look in her eyes.
I remember her laugh very well,
and her gestures.
The way she moved her hands as she spoke.
She had a weird way of speaking,
making many mistakes.
It was very funny.
Anyway, she wasn't an angel.
A young love.
That's what I'd call it. A young love.
A great love story.
I couldn't say.
An unfulfilled promise.
We could call it that, yes.
Hi, it's Chlo.
I'm not home.
Leave a message and I'll call you back.
The beginning of our relationship
is totally blurry for me.
It wasn't a dazzling,
unexpected encounter.
It wasn't magic, either, like,
"Their eyes met..."
It wasn't love at first sight.
Rather, it was a sort of controlled skid.
I was always the last to leave
when we had a party.
You could have a fling with Kram
or something.
It's not spicy enough.
Kissing Julien isn't enough
for a successful screenplay.
Kissing who?
Should I get naked now or later?
This is how it started.
I was a student at the Sorbonne.
Sentimentally speaking,
that was a pretty messy period for me.
Probably I had met her already,
but I can't remember well.
I remember a party, though,
where I saw her again
and found her incredibly pretty.
I remember I danced with her
and I felt something powerful.
Right away.
Well, it was quite obvious
that there was chemistry between us.
It was undeniable.
The only thing I can remember
is that I was dancing with her
and I placed my hand
where her back created a curve, like this.
I thought it was so long,
beautiful and elegant.
It was incredible.
It's the only real memory I have of that.
Surprisingly,
I can't remember where we were.
We must have been at someone's place.
Whose?
No clue.
She was living alone
and I was still living with my parents.
I discovered a new life
that started at 10 pm.
I used to sleep at that time, before.
I'd wear my roller skates
and I'd go see her in the dead of night.
Hey!
- How is it going?
- All good?
Would you like a drink?
We would simply show up.
The door was always unlocked,
we'd entered without knocking.
She was dating another guy.
I didn't know much about her love life.
I guess there were other people,
but I didn't know much.
She wasn't telling me everything.
She was seeing many other people
while we were together.
Whatever she did with all those people
who adored her,
it was her own business.
I didn't care.
Maybe you will cut this.
I have a memory...
that has been very important to me.
I remember my pleasure,
and that she told me,
"That's so beautiful!"
"There's nothing as beautiful as this."
There. That was my memory.
I had no idea it was her first time
with a girl.
With her, I often had the impression
that the best things
were always happening unexpectedly.
Just like that.
We didn't really have dates,
it's more like things were just happening.
There was an unease about her
and a sort of ambiguity.
Some unfinished business
that tormented her,
troubled her, bothered her.
That was a lot of personal introspection.
The boundary between what love was
and what wasn't
wasn't very clear to me.
Yes.
I couldn't say
when our relationship started.
However, I could be very precise
in determining when it ended.
One day she asked me, "Do you love me?"
What an absurd idea.
I answered bluntly,
"No."
Hanging out with boys was very easy.
We would meet a few times
and see if it worked between us or not.
I didn't give it much thought.
However, with her it was
way more complicated than that.
It was as if I was taking a huge risk.
She was intellectualizing everything
so much,
that eventually she just needed to know.
She didn't understand
that it wasn't a novel.
We simply needed to live our relationship.
It was in that moment, probably,
that something else started,
something deeper and more sincere.
"Sweet, beautiful girl.
Dear lover of a few hours.
Dearest, whom I don't know yet.
Yes, I'm already drunk,
and I'm writing to you."
"For a long time, my relationships
have been very calm."
Then, your little pretty face
landed in the middle of this peace.
I'm glad you did."
"I lack the courage of locking myself away
waiting for you."
It's something I couldn't do,
whatever the reason."
"I have openly criticized you,
I hid things from you,"
I've been mad at you.
What I don't understand is the fact
you try to appear indifferent."
"What do I want with you?
Nothing."
A happy recklessness.
I can't do that and neither can you."
"My feelings for you haven't changed."
I'm still very attached to this little
girl with her shy and malicious face."
"Somewhere in the world there's still
your breasts, your eyes, your face.
That's what matters."
"This is not a declaration of love,
just a clarification."
Kisses.
Laurent."
"Goodbye, you pretty girl.
My phone's disconnected.
Holidays are approaching.
But when I will see you again
we will smile.
Ariane."
I love the passing of time.
I love the patina of time on furniture,
on people, on bodies.
The past is an interesting object.
I find the past to be
more mysterious than the future.
However,
I can't remember my own past.
I think about it very often.
I write about it, I sing about it.
I'm constantly facing it.
I don't forget many things.
I'm definitely not a nostalgic.
If I'm thinking back to my past,
it's often because I'm forced to do so.
As it is the case now.
I believe nostalgia
is a beautiful feeling.
A very noble one.
It allows us to go back to
moments in our past
as honestly as possible, without filters.
It's a way to truly
be aligned with yourself.
I decided to consider my memories
the way I consider my imagination.
I'm sure it works the same way.
We make up our past.
It's like a mysterious continent.
Sometimes I'm interested in it,
other times I'm not.
I don't have a fetish
for my autobiography.
This bothers me so much.
I'm doing it, but I don't want to!
This is a particular event in my love life
as it was unexpected.
I clearly remember the first time
we spent the night together,
as my only experience
with a woman has been with her.
I couldn't determine
when our first contact was.
There was an affectionate, sweet,
loving atmosphere with her.
Since a long time. She's very sweet.
Because of her age,
as she was a friend of my older sister,
I looked at her like... how could I say?
She was older.
She's maybe
three or four years older than me.
That was a lot to me.
Rebecca?
It was later on,
after I finished high school,
the year I turned 18,
that we met again and became closer.
Our love story started that summer
and it lasted for a year or maybe two.
Did you tell someone about us?
About what?
About all this.
All of it?
Yeah, I told you already.
I told Nathalie.
Didn't she say it's wrong?
No, she said...
"Bitch, I thought
you were gonna do it with me!"
That's what she said, I swear.
She lived in front of a church
of ultra-conservative Catholics
who celebrated mass in Latin.
And she was a young woman
having lesbian relationships in her house,
so that was quite ironic.
That's Hugo, behind the window.
Recalling that period I realise
I spent that year thinking about love!
I danced with her.
This woman's dance was made up of writing,
talking about literature,
living in an intense, constant drama.
So I got in tune with her.
I feel like we were somehow
matching musically,
so much
that I adopted her way of functioning.
There's even a moment when
Marcel is attending a reception
hosted by the Prince de Guermantes.
Oriane de Guermantes arrives
and as the Duchesse de Guermantes'
eyes shine at every party,
he says something beautiful, he says...
Huh?
He says...
What?
Your hand.
Her eyes are shining.
He says: "She lit up her eyes
for the whole night."
"She lit up her eyes for the whole night."
I felt 'seen' by her love.
This was...
She saw something in me
I couldn't see myself.
This gave me so much strength,
even for my following relationships.
It's true.
My sister opened some letters
and she came across a love letter.
She told me
it had disturbed her.
She was sad I didn't tell her.
This secret had been imposed to me,
but I was living our relationship freely.
My father knew about it.
He invited me to his office
a couple times asking about my sexuality.
I answered, "Chill out,
you won't be the father of a lesbian."
He was worried.
But also, there were...
Some people were feeling excluded
by our love.
I believe this allowed her
to have many secret relationships.
She could multiply them.
She was cheating, in fact.
This is why our relationship ended.
She was cheating on many people,
asking every one of them
to keep their relationship secret.
Are you thinking of anyone in particular?
I'm thinking of Anne.
I'm referring to the fact
she cheated on me with Anne.
I can't remember, I couldn't say
if it was love at first sight.
I can't remember in detail.
I can't answer.
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't...
I can't answer,
because I actually can't remember.
I remember that when I met her
and I understood
I was infatuated with her...
it was done.
I was receiving a gift
and I was going to live it
with simplicity.
That year I was following
preparatory classes in Lyce Fnelon.
I must have been 19 years old.
I met her through a mutual friend,
Rebecca.
Rebecca was my classmate
and she was her flatmate.
She was working back then.
She was independent
and this really impressed us.
To me, really, she represented...
freedom.
We travelled together.
We visited Italy.
We wrote a lot.
We smoked a lot, we drank too much coffee.
We read to each other
The Man Who Laughs, by Victor Hugo.
We read it aloud,
from the first word to the last.
Just think how many hours that takes.
Life should always be like this,
we should never stop.
We were in a state
of receptiveness to the world,
it was so vibrant.
Like a music always playing,
from the moment we woke up
to the moment we went to sleep.
Let's make a short film.
I'm so in, girl!
Pitch me your ideas.
I'll tell you something.
Oh, no!
Stop it, I can't talk
while looking at myself, it's horrible.
When I think about this relationship
I feel like I'm drunk.
It is both pleasant and unpleasant.
Because...
when you're drunk, it always ends badly.
Probably what was annoying me
was all that emphasis.
The romanticism.
The fact she was in love with love itself.
Her obsession with love
is a whole thing.
When she's passionate, she's omnipresent.
That's terrorism.
When she enters your life, it's an attack.
I don't know if it's an indecent assault,
but it surely is an assault.
Later on, after we went on with our lives,
Whenever we met, we made love.
Because we felt good together
and we knew there was no commitment.
That's not being flighty, at all.
Being flighty is something else.
Rather, she was...
she was following
one passion after the other.
That's why she scared me a little.
She considered love
in a very romantic way,
as if love justifies anything.
She hurt many people.
I remember she hurt the people around her.
It wasn't harmless.
Her actions were not harmless.
Yes. Yes, well.
When you're in love, it would be stupid
to prevent your body from loving.
We don't have our bodies for long.
And when...
when you're in your prime,
when everything's easy,
would you repress that?
By what right? In the name of what?
Of course, I was very much in love.
I mean... I was completely in love.
Like a child could be in love.
And it's...
it's because my love stemmed
from such a pure drive
that the appearance of the lie was so...
so brutal.
She knows
she is having a love affair with Anne.
At that time I didn't know that.
The apartment had an 'L' shape,
with a TV in the corner.
It had a reflecting surface.
Maybe that's where my passion
for cinema comes from.
I was about to fall asleep
and I noticed they kept on talking.
We would always sleep
at each other's place in that period.
It was around 5 or 6 am.
I went to bed
and I saw they were still together.
Then I told myself,
"Weird. I can't hear them anymore".
So I got up and I saw,
in the reflection of the television,
that they were kissing.
I thought,
"Unbelievable. Is that a kiss?".
Yes, it was.
I got off the bed.
I'm not the jealous type, but I thought,
"That's perverse. That's weird."
Maybe our story was already over.
We weren't a couple anymore,
but I was still living there.
That has to be what happened, I think.
That was it.
It was a moment marked by infidelity.
We can hurt each other in love,
but there are consequences.
As a consequence,
we're not friends anymore.
But sometimes lovers can become friends.
It's crazy,
it sounds like I'm still mad at her.
It was over in a few hours.
However, I remember
those hours very precisely.
It was very easy for me to accept
the idea of being with a girl.
It wasn't embarrassing for me, at all.
But I felt that for her it was.
She told me that it was her first time.
And then, one night,
I understood that wasn't true.
I felt like an idiot.
I didn't see what was just before my eyes.
The following day, I went to see her.
I was very angry.
I told her she had been lying to me,
and I couldn't understand why.
Putting on an act
saying it was her first time...
So I gathered my things,
all the letters I'd wrote her,
our pictures...
I took everything and I left.
I never spoke to her again.
That was 25 years ago.
So you two haven't talked again
for the last 25 years?
No, never.
There is the first love
and there's the first heartbreak.
That was her first heartbreak, I reckon.
I met her at the time
I had just arrived in Paris.
Everything was so beautiful.
The streets, the bars, the bookshops,
the elegant people.
I was the Canadian, the newcomer.
I was working for the Ambassy.
I was happy as a lark.
I would go to a bar on Rue Mouffetard
every night,
wearing my three-piece suit
and my bow tie.
And I would read, read, read.
She was sitting at her table
with a gang of friends, of course.
It was impossible not to notice her.
She looked at me.
She waited for it to settle.
She invited me to her table
as if she was challenging me.
It happened instantly.
That night, from the moment
she looked at me,
it began.
I knew I was screwed.
Look how handsome he is!
Scat singing and all.
Writing poems.
He likes Nina Simone.
He's nice, he's adorable and...
And he's a faggot.
I have fallen in love with women.
I consider myself gay,
but that doesn't mean
I have to put a limit to my desire,
to how I love, or to who I love.
So I have loved women, on a few occasions.
I was in love with a boy from the area,
back then.
He was so beautiful,
so intelligent, so kind.
And so heterosexual, it was depressing.
I had been rejected.
She was dealing with a heartbreak.
So we comforted each other.
It was always an adventure.
We would go to the countryside,
or take the Palatino Express train
and go to Rome.
Here we are in Rome.
We were part of a huge group.
- Keep some battery!
- Yes!
We would sleep anywhere.
Some people were musicians,
others we didn't know that well.
You never knew, with her.
The same went for me, anyway.
I clearly remember the first time we met.
I was going back home one evening
and there was a bar with a terrace
just down the road.
One evening,
she followed me
until the beginning of my road,
but that wasn't creepy or anything.
She invited me to have a drink
and I accepted.
There you go.
Can I have it back? Thank you.
I saw her as I see her today.
I saw someone who was very... intense.
Someone who had this sort of urge...
an urge to live.
I saw someone who needed to seduce
as much as she needed to breathe.
That's how she meets people.
I can't picture the moment
Anna and her met.
She can be very discrete.
She could rob a trailer truck
in front everybody
and no one would notice.
Later that night, she followed me.
She came at my place. She took the risk.
And we weren't alone.
The three of us ended up at Anna's place,
on Passage des postes.
And I was so naive,
I didn't understand what she was plotting.
Until, at some point, I understood that...
that I had to leave.
We spent the night together.
I remember the following morning
very well.
She was agitated.
She was almost feverish, on the streets.
She didn't want to touch me.
It was as if our experience...
was somehow shameful.
That wasn't absolutely the case for me.
I think it's also because
it was a forbidden love.
She found it thrilling.
I believe that back then
she started to understand that her desire
was mainly directed towards women.
In her mind, loving women openly
wasn't possible.
She lied. She loved lying.
If you impose secrecy on everyone,
you push away
those you should get closer to.
Asking everyone to keep the secret
is an abuse of power.
Did she have an affair with Rebecca?
I didn't know.
- You never knew.
- I didn't.
I would have never suspected it,
and I never heard of it.
I knew nothing about her previous
experiences with other women.
I knew about the men, but she always said
I was the first woman.
She's a liar, I'm telling you.
She will always say,
"you're the one and only".
I never understood why she would lie.
Why would she lie?
"August 28, 1999.
Dear Chlo,
it's the middle of the night
and I can't stop thinking
about our conversation.
Rome is calling.
Never let your laughter
be carried away by sadness.
Freedom isn't something you receive.
It's something you take.
Take it.
The Vatican can say whatever they want,
but Antinoo's statue, the body of a man
who was loved by an emperor,
still decorate the hall of its museums.
Rome is calling.
I miss you already.
Jean-Philippe."
I had no idea she was leaving
to escape from something.
I basically met her
the day before she left.
That's beautiful.
And it's beautiful that it happened
this way,
with her doubts and her fears.
I guess she came from a past
where she had experienced conflict,
she was familiar with it.
I told myself she was escaping to Italy
because she'd screwed up in Paris.
She must have thought,
"Well, what now? Run away!"
Just like a literary character going,
"My scene here is over, I'll go that way."
She went on a sentimental exile in Italy
and she never came back.
You may call it 'an escape', but I'd wish
everybody an escape to the Eternal City.
It's where the Vatican is.
If you're looking for what's forbidden,
well...
"Paris, September 22, 1999.
Chlo,
I'm thinking of you,
despite my scattered ideas.
I restrain my light-heartedness,
dreaming I'll visit you in the weekend.
A music, a siren song, an urge
violently nourishing my desire
for Rome and for more.
I like to take care of you
somewhere in my heart.
Between presence and absence, fantasies.
A contemplative, meditative gaze
that gets me lost in tenderness.
I hope my prudence
will not seem cold to you.
It's just a rhythm to take on,
a skill to master.
Kisses,
with love,
Anna."
When I think of her...
I think of her loving eyes.
I think of lust,
because she's very passionate.
I could see she wanted me.
I remember her staring at me.
I think of our first time,
the way she brought me home.
The way she seduced me.
We would meet once a month,
or once every six months.
She was my lover.
I remember that I wished
every time was the last.
But we would meet again, often,
for what I expect a relationship
with a woman to be, at least.
She had a way to look at me, to treat me.
She was totally fascinated by me.
So I felt interesting and beautiful.
She made me feel good.
So at one point, I put down my camera
and a guy tells me,
"Look, people in Amsterdam don't like
to be photographed."
I felt embarrassed because I liked her.
It wasn't easy, for me.
At the same time,
I felt like she understood me.
And I was irresistibly attracted by her.
I couldn't resist her.
I can't recall the details,
but I can remember my feelings.
I was terrified.
But I pretended not to be.
You arrive like that, by magic, sometimes.
You bring me away,
you throw me into the sea.
A movie-like kiss.
No, please. I'm drunk!
It feels like you can't hide.
When you're with a man,
there's a certain mystery about you.
There's something
men will never understand.
This makes you strong.
It's like having a gun
hidden under your jacket.
No one knows that.
But when you're with a woman,
you can't hide.
You have to face yourself.
I felt more vulnerable.
Deep down,
I knew it was never going to work.
I would never be brave enough
to fully enjoy our relationship.
In hindsight, reconsidering it,
no one would've judged me,
not even my mother.
It was all in my head.
Feeling ashamed was pretty common.
We also felt we were at risk,
we risked being beaten up.
We were perfectly aware
of the power of homophobia.
The law about civil marriages
is being discussed.
Some deputies give four-hours
marathon speeches in Parliament,
saying we will be the end of Family.
And if that wasn't enough,
the end of Civilization.
And if that wasn't enough,
the end of humankind.
Hordes of married homosexuals
will invade the French territory.
Lesbians were a kind of scary creature
for me, back then.
Something like...
a circus animal, something odd.
I didn't tell my parents I was gay.
I was scared they would reject me,
that they wouldn't love me anymore.
So I preferred to keep it a secret.
I was definitely heterosexual.
I would have never imagined
I was going to have a future with women.
I wanted to try with a girl,
but I honestly believed
it was just
a new experience for me to try.
I was wondering, "My God,
where am I going to find a lesbian?"
I didn't know any.
You couldn't see them in movies.
The first time I saw two women kissing
was in Mulholland Drive.
I dragged my boyfriend
to watch it five times, I was obsessed!
But there weren't any around.
I was in Rome, abroad. I had a life.
I was free to be myself
without having to apologize,
or disappointing someone.
And I could be loved.
The majority of gays and lesbians
of my generation went away.
Those who lived in small towns
left for the big cities.
Those who lived in big cities
went elsewhere.
In those crazy years,
we were all on a self-discovery journey.
We were out very late. Like, until dawn.
I remember lots of alcohol,
lots of joints,
lots of parties, lots of music.
Many people, many faces.
I was a lazy student when I met her.
I was on an Erasmus programme in Rome.
I was way more naive than I thought I was.
I was hanging out
at the bar she was working in.
That's where it all started, in February.
I saw this kind of elf.
I was shocked.
As if someone stole your voice
and at the same time
you feel so vulnerable.
It's a visceral feeling.
As if someone pulled you
by the neck, by the stomach,
and it all implodes
and you're left there, in that moment.
The rest of the world
becomes merely the background
to your powerful feelings.
Yes.
She didn't even notice me.
I know one thing.
You liked this flab.
'Flab', can you say that?
If I hadn't been
totally enraptured by her,
I would have thought she was ridiculous.
But it was love at first sight for me,
so I was a hopeless case.
I dived headfirst into that relationship.
The first night
we walked from the Stardust to her place.
I was intimidated by the beauty of Rome
almost as much as I was intimidated
by her beauty.
This synergism
between the person and the city
marked the beginning of our relationship.
I was taking in all of this beauty
almost by osmosis.
It was bigger than myself.
I ended up at her place.
Her apartment was at the top floor.
It was full of books
posters of films I didn't know,
but I pretended to know.
I kept telling myself,
"Talk, be interesting."
I was so nervous.
Suddenly, she grabbed my face and said,
"I'm not a lesbian".
I answered, "Ahem... Neither am I".
She kissed me, then we made love.
Clearly, we were both lesbians.
In our friend group
they have always been 'The couple',
probably.
I spent so much time with them,
in their house.
We lived so many things together.
Marina is worried.
Then I went back to London.
I was desperate.
I had to finish
my last year at university.
We were apart, but we were still together.
We would write many letters.
I finished that year at university
and I went back to Rome in June.
And... yes.
I understood that during the year
we'd been apart
she'd been having affairs
with other people.
Alright, she was unfaithful.
I believe it's pretty normal.
Long-distance relationships
are somehow made for this.
It goes without saying.
Having a long-distance relationship,
where you see your partner once a month,
you know...
I didn't make much of it, honestly.
I never felt like I had to tell Marina.
Why the fuck would I?
I was upset, I guess.
I was dying.
So I understood I loved her.
But that was the first time for me.
The first time that love
meant being in pain, panicking.
Feeling insecure.
I thought we were on the same page.
It was so painful.
After being with her,
I had short relationships.
But anytime one would end,
I would call her.
And we would meet.
She was always available.
But she was very much in love
with a girl, at a certain point.
I wanted to be with her anyway.
I was in love.
I was hurting a lot.
But...
despite what happened, we made it work.
Our love story was beautiful.
Our relationship lasted
three or four years more.
She's a beautiful person
to live the world with.
If I manage, Chelsea wins.
Chelsea wins! Chelsea wins!
Being in love is one thing,
loving is another.
Those looks...
When you don't need any words,
but you exchange a look and you know
you're thinking the same thing.
There were so many moments like this.
And also...
It's weird how big moments
were near-death experiences.
For example, we had a stomach flu once...
You know it's love
when you see diarrhoea and vomit
coming out of that person
at the same time.
That's love.
Yes.
I wish I could be
Stronger than any doubt
But I can't settle for this
If all you can offer me
Is a plastic love
But I can't settle for this
If all you can offer me
Is a plastic love
Bye.
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't.
There was so much... jealousy.
We never had a confrontation,
a conversation to break up.
I didn't even have that conversation
with myself.
I felt I was grieving
and it was very physical,
as it happens
at the end of any relationship.
It's that burden you're carrying
wherever you go.
It's so tiring to drag it around.
It was just so clear to me.
I didn't want to be with her anymore.
I felt I needed to leave.
I wanted to go back to England.
I packed my bags and I left, alone.
And in England I stayed.
I left, but I couldn't bring myself
to break up with her.
Yeah.
"Thank you for everything, my love.
For revealing yourself to me completely,
whole, with no pretence.
Above all, thank you for wanting me.
I'm crying on the train now.
I'm sad.
I have to close my eyes
to see us being happy again.
I can't ask you to love me
when I am the one leaving,
but you have to give me my freedom back.
The freedom I have denied you before.
I need to tell myself
that I can make it without you
and we can't be happy together anymore.
The happiest moments in my life
have been with you.
You have seen Marina drunk with happiness.
I would like some more of that,
but I'm not getting any from us."
She took it badly.
She took it quite badly.
It was one of those circumstances
where you can't react,
but also, you're magnifying your problems.
In turn,
I had just broken up with my girlfriend.
We were probably both feeling down
in that moment.
About a year later
we'd gone out,
we'd been drinking and smoking weed.
I don't remember exactly.
I'm perfectly fine.
Like a thousand times before,
I went to sleep at her place.
We had fallen asleep together
thousands of times.
Still, that time...
it happened.
We kissed.
We had already kissed on other occasions.
But that time
we really kissed.
And then it happened.
It was totally unexpected.
It was crazy.
It was also strange,
as we were friends by then.
Very good friends.
After that, we started having an affair.
She and I.
We dated for a few months, in secret.
I didn't tell anyone at the time,
nor did I do it in all these years.
It's the first time I'm saying it.
Are Chlo's parents going to watch this?
Well, yes. I mean.
But you know...
Oh, damn.
When I think about it...
I think back to...
I think of her incredible waistline,
for sure.
It's always the first thing I recall.
Yes, I remember her body very well.
I remember it precisely.
Those images are still very clear.
I remember the physical sensations,
of course.
More than other bodies, for that matter.
If I had to think of an image...
It would be a scent, actually.
Her perfume.
I can't talk about my sexual life
in front of a camera.
I'm not refusing categorically
or ethically,
it's just that in this situation, here,
I don't feel like talking
about my sexual life.
It's true.
That's the way I was raised.
Even if I can...
I'm French. We always
end up talking about love and sex.
But you need to know the people first.
The urge of being close to her,
naked,
losing myself in her body,
in the moment.
At the beginning of a relationship,
this knows no limits.
You would give everything,
even your nails.
"I'm here, take all of me."
"It's not enough, I want all of you."
When you do something
SO...
I mean, I remember that...
I would be kissing her tits,
or looking at her body
and in doing so I would think,
"Oh, my God.
I never thought I'd get here."
It's like landing in a new country
and saying,
"Wow, that's beautiful."
Has this been here all the time
and I didn't know?
Why didn't I come sooner?
How can this not be normal?"
I learnt that friendships with benefits
have an expiration date.
At the very least,
one of the two starts to wonder,
"So, what are we?"
In that case, it was her.
I don't know if she was more into it,
or more confused.
I didn't know how to act.
I didn't know what to do.
This forbidden experience
wasn't that exciting anymore.
I wanted to go back being friends.
So, naturally, we started
seeing each other less often.
"Hi Chloe,
I heard you were offered a job in Paris
and you're leaving soon.
I didn't hear it from you.
On the one hand, it's normal, considering
the fact we're not talking as much.
On the other hand,
I'm extremely sorry about that.
In other circumstances, we would've
discussed it drinking a glass of wine.
I would have said I was happy for you.
We would have celebrated until dawn.
Everything I can think of right now
is that I miss that period.
That glass of wine in Trastevere.
I miss my friend.
Goodbye, Chlo.
I'm not wishing you good luck,
because you don't need it.
I already know
you will kick asses in Paris.
Stay cool.
Marco."
I get emotional
because I remember my younger self,
who didn't know how to write a letter.
I travelled to Paris for work
and I met her.
I remember she said,
"Yes, let's meet in Le Marais!"
I thought,
"Damn, I'm going to see my lover".
I was ready to make love to her,
to kiss her or whatever.
I was ready for anything.
Instead, she showed up with her woman.
I thought, "Wow, alright".
This was my very first adult relationship.
A mature, serious one, I mean.
So that was the first time I faced
the big problem every couple faces.
I met her in a moment of my life
where I was very confused.
I was starting to understand
I really liked girls.
It wasn't just a passing phase.
I was going out a lot.
I was in my thirties.
I wanted to have a real love story,
but all I could find was shitty flings.
I'm Parisian now
I'm pushing myself too hard
And I know about distress,
about blues and stress
Finally, I'm acquainting myself
with ecology
And away from the pollution,
I'll be shearing sheep
And away from the pollution,
I'll be shearing sheep
It wasn't love at first sight, for me.
Even if I usually
fall in love very quickly.
Too often, I'm afraid.
In fact, I realized that our relationship
didn't begin out of an instinct,
I didn't rush into it.
My feelings developed with time.
Somehow, I must have perceived
that she knew how to handle me.
Don't make me look stupid, my love.
- Take a picture of the flower, not of me.
- Blow it.
Are you taking a video?
That would be sneaky.
I had cut all ties with my family
before meeting her.
I had two suitcases,
one for winter and one for summer.
If I bought something,
I had to throw something else away
to keep on wandering with my suitcases.
I would always ask myself,
"Where should I live?".
With her, I finally found a home.
I put my suitcases down.
Those four years were very intense.
So many things come to my mind.
The day we met,
our first night together.
When we decided to live together.
The cities we lived in.
Paris, Rome, and especially Barcelona.
She surrounded me with her love.
Suddenly,
someone created a universe for me.
I guess that, without noticing,
I started depending on her.
Those were the things I was scared to lose
when I lost her.
When our relationship ended.
In her dream, she saw the empty house.
The rooms were empty.
The carpets were rolled up-
Stop it, Chlo.
Then, what happens in any relationship
happened between us as well.
We all struggle to find a solution.
I'm referring to the fact that
our honeymoon phase ended
and we got into a routine.
When you get to the point
you don't kiss each other as much,
maybe just every two or three days,
and you start feeling anxious
because you won't admit it,
but you know the magic is going away.
But I would have never imagined
our story was about to end.
Never.
I met someone.
I met... Marie,
let's call her that.
I got a crush.
I can't remember who else was there,
nor anything in particular
about that event.
I remember we were talking
and she made a gesture...
I didn't know that woman,
I had just met her.
I told her straight away I had just moved
in Barcelona with my girlfriend.
And she made
this absolutely insane gesture.
As we spoke, she caressed my thigh.
Talking and looking into my eyes
as if it was nothing.
It was crazy.
I wondered if I was hallucinating,
but no, she really did it.
So calmly.
It was love at first sight.
I told myself, "Never see her again".
This woman started haunting my thoughts.
I can't say we had an affair,
as every time we met was the last.
But there was always another time.
So I was screwed.
It was difficult for me,
I was a two-headed monster, basically.
I felt so bad for cheating,
because it went against
everything our relationship was.
It was a relationship based on trust
where we supported each other.
Being unfaithful means that you're lying
and many small indignities.
Still, when I went back home,
back to my life, with my partner,
it felt good and I forgot about it.
My life was good.
It's the other thing that became...
the anecdote.
Yet, when I was with Marie
everything was so fascinating,
beautiful, thrilling and loving...
I was in love with her too.
I was in love with one
and I loved the other.
What I didn't know back then,
what I was refusing to see
because I was in denial,
is that it was going to end.
I didn't want to accept that.
I couldn't leave her because I loved her.
Stop filming everything, Chlo.
You're facing a choice that will force you
to be very strong and brave.
You will suffer.
It will be very unpleasant.
In the end, she found out
in a horrible way.
She really didn't see that coming.
It was very hard. It was shocking.
Horrible.
It was as brutal as an accident, for her.
I lost her.
It was a huge failure.
It was the end of everything.
I already saw myself in a dumpster,
drinking beer.
My world was crumbling around me.
It was the end.
She was going back to Rome.
It was so sad.
Later on, Marie and her decided to meet,
because they needed some closure as well.
I agreed to put them in contact.
I thought we needed to close this chapter.
So they met and had a talk,
exchanging secrets.
And indiscretions.
What bothered me was
that it felt like I was on trial.
It was a courthouse where they were
judges and parties.
They had joined forces
and they were revealing our secrets.
It's horrible.
It was over. With both of them.
I decided to cut ties with them,
I couldn't stand it anymore.
It was unbearable.
One day, I was having a beer in a bar
with a friend, in Portugal.
I had a vision, an intuition.
I imagined something absurd.
I had a crazy eureka moment.
Those two were together, that very second.
She said, "No way, you're crazy.
It's impossible, stop it".
I answered, "I'm telling you, trust me".
So I called her that night.
I told her, "I thought something crazy".
I asked her if it was true
and her voice started trembling.
That was tough.
They sat down and talked,
then they got up and went to bed.
That was quite...
That was a double betrayal, in a way.
That was the only malicious act
in our relationship, I guess.
It's difficult for me.
I can't forgive her for that.
Maybe...
When we don't want something to end,
eventually it just explodes.
That was like an explosion.
I'm not like you.
This is something I love about you,
but it makes me upset at the same time.
When you love somebody,
you chop this person up. In a good way.
You objectify the people you love.
- You always think you're so romantic.
- Wait, no.
Listen to me. You're the most romantic
person in the world, aren't you?
You put love first.
Still, you don't put yourself on the same
level as the object of your love.
Because it is an object,
and you're the artist.
It doesn't surprise me, as I believe
she always considered her life
as her work of art.
And she's the memory of our story.
I know that somewhere,
someone remembers of our relationship.
I think she was already making that moment
a sacred one.
And I believe it's wonderful
that she kept all this.
I find it incredible.
Love is the main theme of her life,
I reckon.
I see her as someone
who will forever be in love.
I think she doesn't protect herself,
at all.
She fully lived her love stories.
It's a beautiful project.
I didn't put as much energy and heart
in it as she did.
For sure.
Talking about her
I remember how much
love is important in my life.
We have to ask ourselves about love.
We can't take it for granted.
We should always keep this in mind.
We can't forget our heart is beating.
There's a pact.
A sort of pact of love.
Our relationship
was never about carnal love.
In any case,
it turned into brotherly love.
She saw in me things
that others couldn't see that quickly.
Every time I see her I think,
"She's someone who knows me.
Someone who sees me."
Any prejudice on love
can hold us back,
as we try and live our love stories
the way we think they should be lived.
I know many people who say
that since they got hurt,
they will never love again.
I find it terrible.
It's terrible.
I think that the more we love,
the more we love.
We only have one life.
And it's important to say
how much we love each other,
that it wasn't in vain,
it doesn't all just disappear.
This love story is
what taught me how to love.
I learned who I am, how I love.
I learned how important it is to forgive.
To be indulgent.
So, thank you.
I am thankful.
We really loved each other.
We truly believed
it was going to be forever.
In a way, we were right.
But not the way we thought.
After all, our love was true.
That's essential, I think.
Yes.
We all need an archivist.
Our lives were so ordinary,
lost among millions of other lives.
Someone was there
so that one day we could say
we existed.
Obviously, time has stopped.
No more soft steps,
no more steep trails.
No more whispers in the night.
Sometimes, I'm overwhelmed
by an uncontrollable desire
to listen to your voice.
So I start crying
until sleep overcomes me.
This morning, in tears, I went back over
the film of all those years.
Starting from the beginning, of course.
Our first night together,
before I left a different person,
leaving my heart behind.
I remember the first time I suffered
and the nights we spent comforting
each other in my small apartment.
The words we exchanged.
Our shining eyes.
We couldn't stop touching each other
and kissing.
I wanted that moment to last forever.
Our clandestine getaways,
in the secret of our love.
The trips we would spend
learning about freedom.
The intermittences of the heart.
The evidence of meeting you.
Our electric kisses
that threw me into the sea.
The stolen glances.
My exposed body.
The signs you left on it.
The strength of your friendship.
I remember when we were so in love
we would hike in Corsica.
I remember that time
when our future was clear.
I was your treasure and you were mine.
We were so in love.
What happened between us?
Why couldn't we do better?
We had love.
A big, beautiful love.
All of this has existed.
The emptiness, the wounds,
I forgot all about that.
I won't let anything or anyone
ever ruin what we have been.
You'll always be a part
of whatever time I have left.
Never forget who I am
and how much I love you.
Last letter is from Caroline.
I thank her for lending me her words.