Ma Camille,
Twenty-five years ago you walked down the steps of the mairie in the cold December sun, and I forgot every word I had practised.
Since then we have changed flats, cities, jobs and hairstyles. We raised Léa, lost our keys a thousand times and found each other again every evening at the kitchen table.
The music box still plays our song when you wind it. I hope you never get tired of hearing it — because I will never get tired of dancing to it with you.
Je t’aime, aujourd’hui plus qu’hier,
Julien
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