l'amour et la mer
Written for Sarah.
Her husband is laughing! Viola laughs, too. She remembers when he used always to sigh, to sit in solitude during the day writing pages and pages about his misery, to call her to him and abuse women, to stand by the sea looking away from Illyria and declaring that his love was stronger, larger, deeper. Now he laughs, over something she's misheard, something she's said. He seems so happy, now.
Once she thought too deeply on it. How can it be that his affections change so easily? she thought; and it made her curious and sad. Perhaps he cherished her more when she was Cesario, to whom he told all his secrets; Cesario, who knew everything. Perhaps, now, he tells Viola only the things a husband should tell his wife.
But she soon learned that she could not be sad; she was not made for sadness. Her Lord is laughing! laughing because she has pleased him, laughing because he loves her. She can understand it in the way he laughs. She could stand by the sea with her back to Illyria, and know she is better than the sea, because his love is stronger, larger, deeper.
And Viola laughs, too.
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