Love seems to be impossible: if I love you, you are all, and I nothing. How could this nothing evaluate himself as an entity real enough to hope and be loved? What is this infinitesimal distance that separates bloom from doom? It is the metaphysical distance itself, that which depicts this somewhat faint gap between two things, none of which can exist next to the other, yet who allow them to be.
Love is, as the sea, infinite in-front. The carress is a stroll, where one tends to follow the infinite, to border it, so to speak. Loving is seeing the existence of the outside and from the outside. However, can there be a limit without a crossing? Doesn’t the most impossible crossing have any means of existence? Could we lose any hope of understanding the other one if we did not hope for it? Can the fact that a thing does not exist, or is proved impossible, be the certificate of birth or death of desire? Love then, is not this unreachable mountain top or this seaborne endlessness, it is the path of impossibility that leads straight to these very places. The impossibility of love is why desire leads and binds us to it.
My adoring should then annihilate me, as should any status of infinity from the other one. However, desire (an alias for utopia) saves me from nothingness, for it is always a desire for the impossible. It is that which gives me, along with the daring to love, this crazy hope for mutuality, for a reciprocal which would allow me to exist. Within love, two nonexistences thus become one existence : this impossible that fuels our existence.
(Traduit du français par Paul Aupetitgendre.)
