Amour

As today’s is meant to be a day for love, a post about love (ahhhhhhh!).

French is considered to be a romantic language for a lot of non-speakers and in more than one occasion have I heard that even when I swear in French, one may find it beautiful and to some degree even romantic. As my mother language, I cannot really tell. My only comment about it is that to me, by default, the language of love is indeed French as it happens to be the language of my first love words - the ones I received and the ones I gave.

I happen now as a grown up women (sort of) to be with someone who does neither speak my mother tongue and nor is a native English speaker. I have observed since we met how we have managed to combine in an intricate way both our mother languages (and he has in fact 2) along with English to express our deepest feelings to each others.

As I look back at it today, I realize that somehow, the language of love is no longer French to me. As the way I love this particular man goes beyond what words could ever say in whatever language I would pick. And as these feelings have grown to a more mature way of loving and cherishing this person than anyone I met in the past, using French would be somewhat not doing it justice.