My Husband

by Maud Ventura

People think it’s all that anxious waiting that creates dependence and fuels passion. We imagine the object of desire as a man married to someone else, a man who doesn’t answer the phone after a certain hour, who’s inaccessible on Christmas or during the weeks of summer vacation. Passion is supposed to be born from passively waiting in front of the phone, the jealousy of knowing he’s in bed with his wife, not knowing when you’ll see each other next. But to the adulterous lovers, to those who love each other from a distance, and to those who are no longer loved, I would like to say that love has never been a question of uncertainty or waiting, that regularity and reciprocity do not alter intensity. I would like to tell them that passion can also grow from domestic stability, from consistently punctual returns home, from the proof of commitment, from the repetition of daily life. I would like to tell them that the heart can also beat at set times.