A pelted rock, Tadoussac bay, QuebecThe last time I fell in love ( I could even say the first, because it was) I was on vacation, by myself, on Quebec's Côte-nord. We met on a ferry, crossing the Tadoussac fjord. It was rainy, a bit cold, and I was not wearing any make-up. I didn't have a care in the world, didn't have to please anybody else but myself, yet there he was. Coming out of his rental silver convertible, with his jacket wrapped around his waist. For some reason, he thought I was beautiful. I thought he was amazing. From that moment we were inseparable, rode the roller-coaster, and milked it for all it was worth. He was British; I was not. Like all passionate love stories, it ended with a bang, just like it started. It lasted 18 months; it took me 12 to get over it. I woke up one day, realised he was history, didn't feel anymore pain about it and was ok with the fact that I would never, ever, feel this way again with anybody else. How could I? The chances are slim to none.
A few days ago I came back from my cruise in the carribean (I also came back with bronchitis, also known as the Carnival cough amongst cruisers) feeling great, renewed, and forever grateful, yet, giddy as a schoolgirl. I had so much fun on that trip, and I totally wasn't expecting to enjoy it as much. Out of the blue (litterally) I got to feel what is was like again to be in love.
Bridges! Are you saying that you fell in love on the cruise?
Watch it! That's not what I said!!! Pay attention. Come back tomorrow, I'll tell you all about it.
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