Les Histoires D’amour Finissent Mal… en Général (Anne Fontaine, 1993)

Dear wanderer,

The Illusion of Fairytales

When we were little, we were fascinated by fairytales.
Every story ended with a kiss and the promise of happily ever after.
Sometimes I wonder if we must live in some distant, magical land for those stories to ever come true.
But in reality, the endings I’ve witnessed were far quieter, and the fairy godmother was nowhere to be found when a heart was breaking.
There are no castles, no dragons slain, not even a wicked witch, only the slow violence of silence and the night-after-night battles against ruthless memories.

If we had those crystal balls that could reveal the future before the first touch, would we dare to look at how the story would unfold with our partner?
Would he be interested in a true relationship or just a situationship?
Or would he lose interest in you because he finds “happily ever after” dull and ordinary?

Cinema and Disenchantment

Last week, I watched this French film — Les histoires d’amour finissent mal… en général.
It’s a movie by Anne Fontaine, one of my favorite directors of all time.
The film feels so relaxed, and the atmosphere is unmistakably that of the 1990s.
I love how Zina seems carefree, how she sees life and love.
In my opinion, the film is a little theatrical; however, it clearly conveys the nature of the characters and their story.
In the end, just like the title suggests, Zina’s love story ends badly.
We need to change this mindset, the one that believes the promise of “forever happy” is a truth, when in fact it’s only a consolation.

What’s worse is that the memories never fade after that walk through the rose garden with your ex.
That’s when you truly need a magic potion, something to ease the ache and soothe your broken heart.
It’s an ordinary day at the office, yet the smell of your coffee reminds you of that favorite café you used to go to together.
You gave him a cute nickname, and now you skip everything related to Winnie the Pooh.
That little bear reminds you of all those silly moments you shared.
Why did you even come up with that name? Was it because he was cute and a little chubby?
Either way, it’s a great way to ruin that cartoon forever now.

The Echo That Remains

You know, there are days when lost love comes back without warning.
A perfume in the street, a song on the radio, a forgotten cup of coffee on the table and suddenly, everything awakens.
These little things, so trivial in appearance, become messengers of the past: they recall a voice, a laugh, a gesture, a look half-erased by time.
You think you’ve turned the page, and yet, a faint shift of light, a word spoken by chance, is enough to reopen the wound.
It’s an involuntary memory, almost Proustian . Love resurrected like a ghost, tender and cruel at once.
And suddenly, those clouds of memory can darken your days, and you don’t quite understand what’s happening.
You think you’ll never smile again.

This echo is both a gift and a curse; it comforts you, because it proves that love truly existed, but it torments you too, because it whispers that it will never return.
Time, with all its deceptive kindness, doesn’t really heal , it transforms pain into resonance, into a subtle trace lodged deep within.
We end up living with these echoes, like inner voices that accompany us — invisible yet constant.

The echoes of love are like the final notes of a piano piece, suspended in the air long after the music has stopped.
Or like a faithful shadow, still resting on the wall after the body has vanished.
Perhaps love never really dies; it transforms, it lingers, in the slow vibration of memory.

Transformation and Continuity

Perhaps every love story ends badly, but its echoes save it from oblivion.
What remains is not the pain itself, but its subtle resonance
a scent that returns by chance,
a melody overheard without meaning to,
a word that reopens an old tenderness.
Love, even when it dies, leaves invisible traces that weave themselves into our memory
like threads of light that no darkness can completely extinguish.

With time, we learn to live with these echoes.
At first they hurt, like a sound that refuses to fade;
then they become part of us, a distant heartbeat that follows our path.
Perhaps love isn’t meant to last , only to transform,
to become a silent presence,
a soft nostalgia reminding us that we were once alive, vulnerable, human.

So even when everything seems lost, something continues to vibrate in the air
a memory, an image, a dream,
the final imprint of what we once were together.
And in that vibration, perhaps, love never truly ends.

Coda

So, my dear wanderer , what do you think?
Do all love stories end badly, in the end?

From wanderer to wanderer,
Orlando.