Writing naturally becomes more important for people who can't hear very well. This doesn't mean they need to hang small blackboards round their necks and carry sticks of chalk as a means of communication, but it could be a reason why they feel they are being rudely ignored when they don't get a written reply as soon as they would like.
Deafness has its advantages however, providing one can get by reasonably well with a good hearing-aid. It could even be considered a luxury to have the choice between silence and noise at the flick of a switch. And sometimes, miracles can happen.

For if after years of living a sort of enchanted lie without being aware of it, we finally agree to settle for individual freedom, then start to regain confidence in ourselves, we might be lucky enough to discover that we only have to be ourselves to be appreciated and even loved. And this is what actually happened.

To love a person for herself, and to be loved for oneself, might sometimes seem a rare privilege by today's standards, but obviously it's possible. Comparing such a privilege with any other, less positive, affective experience is pointless, because there is no comparison.

The first miracle was that in this blissful, new found freedom so warmly enhanced with new found love, after years of disillusions and deafness; in spite of the fact that I am totally deaf in one ear, I could actually hear in my 'still in 30% function mode side' far better than I could ever remember, and this even without any hearing-aid.

This remarkably improved physical condition brought about thanks to a new life with a wonderful new relationship, lasted for two years. A marvelous gift. And the fact that the miracle was not to last, by no means depreciated its importance.

The second miracle might seem more of a fabulation, but essentially aren't miracles fabulous in any case? It's the miracle last touched upon, effleuré. The impression that with time, instead of getting older, we are getting younger. Is it because life is being appreciated increasingly more?

When a woman is properly loved, comblée et contente, she is ever beautiful. It has nothing to do with age. She blossoms on and on, hors de temps. She goes beyond Shakespeare's famous sonnet. She becomes increasingly desirable and enchanting to the person who loves her. And her beauty, charm and desirability naturally determine and perpetuate her lover's own 'eternal youth'. Thus blissfully they dance on forever in this sublime enchantment.
(In any case this is a far more agreeable interpretation than putting it all down to the ramblings of an incorrigible old romantic, and selenium).

Text and image © Mirino. September, 2014

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