I have initially inscribed your name on top of the page. My pen rarely touched the surface after that.
All that happened was a remembrance of how I used to compose prose and poetry to the man you share your name with. Those were such moments when putting his name to paper meant creating a story, composing poetry – all in beautiful calligraphy.
I honestly felt a gush of both animosity and familiarity writing the name for you, like his shadow was hovering over me.
It brings back to memory what I have already buried under the earth with a foreign farewell. It’s sad, but that makes me smile at the same time. All that is his is memory. All that is yours is now.
And as I trace with my fingers the name I have initially marked with my pen, I know all the story and poetry I will be writing in beautiful calligraphy will be attributed to you, le nouvelle “J”.