Thoughts of Rida Lamrini

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Some loves never die. - Rida Lamrini
To Romy, shooting star of my nothingness This paper trembles between my fingers, suspended like an autumn leaf in the last breath of the wind. The ink carries what I never knew how to tell you. I ask your forgiveness for having been the storm in your sky, the ephemeral flash where you perhaps hoped for a lasting light. You whose smile resurrects extinguished souls. You who changed my motionless blood into a living stream. You offered me much more than a refuge. You gave me back a breath, and with it, life. You held out your hands when I no longer knew how to get back up. You gave me back the desire for the azure and the audacity to fly. In the salty embrace of the world, I understood that the sun caresses before it burns, that love soothes before it wounds. Your love dissipated the darkness that engulfed me. Your patience reminded me of the sweetness of a world I thought lost. You were light in the darkness of my thoughts. Today, I walk away. Not for lack of love, but for excess of clarity. I love you enough to leave. This love is so great, so brilliant, that it becomes too heavy to bear in the shadow of my torments. I leave to spare you my chaos, to preserve the brilliance of your heart. My past is a chain I refuse to lay on your shoulders. This pain bends me, but it must not take you with me. How can I offer you roses when my pockets overflow with ashes? You do not deserve this field of ruins. You deserve a garden where love breathes without fear, where each flower testifies to your beauty, not the stigmata of my wounds. Each kiss was a miracle stolen from destiny. And miracles burn those who try to hold them back. Romy, My name came back to me like the echo of a distant sea, a seashell bearing memories buried beneath the waves: Rayan. This name, I thought I had lost it. Or perhaps I had only let it sleep in a dark room of my memory. It came back to me through a book, As long as I can tell you I love you, as if the pages had kept for me what my mind no longer had the strength to bear. This book was not just a novel. It was a mirror. A labyrinth of memories, of pains, of loved faces, of unspoken words. As I read through it, something awakened in me. Not everything. Not all at once. Memory never gracefully returns what it took. It spits out shards, voices, moments, silences. It does not restore the past; it deposits it within us in fragments. And among those fragments, there was you. Your gaze. Your patience. Your way of waiting for me without enclosing me. Your way of still believing in me when I was no longer sure I fully existed. You placed your light at the edge of my abyss, not to keep me there, but to teach me that a man can still rise again. If I write to you, it is not to reopen your wound. It is to appease your question. Nothing of what we experienced was useless. You did not pass through my life like a mere apparition. You led me towards myself. You were one of the strangest and most beautiful detours of love. For a long time, I believed that exile was an escape. I understand now that it can be a mirror. An inner place where, drop by drop, one repairs oneself, dissolves, and is reborn. The sea calls me, not to swallow me, but to teach me its patience. This book placed in your hands is a fragile heart. My dedication flutters there like a moth. If you put your ear to it, perhaps you will hear the murmur of the waves carrying me away. Romy, Your love was a lighthouse whose light guided me while burning me. I leave to learn to dance with my shadows rather than imposing the burden of lighting them upon you. But know this: every wave that carries me will whisper your name. Every star will keep our story, secret and unforgettable. I love you with a love that transcends the borders of absence. A love made of islets of memory, united by invisible currents. When the wind caresses your hair, remember: somewhere between two tides, Rayan pieces together his puzzle of stars, murmuring your name like a prayer. Forever your grateful castaway, Rayan
In the starry immensity, Rayan smiles with an unreal tenderness, then fades into the depth of the sky. Only a voice remains, coming from a nameless elsewhere, which crosses space like a thread of light and touches Salim to the heart with the sweetness of a rediscovered father: 'Fear nothing. Let yourself be carried by the light.' - The Meanders of Oblivion, Rida Lamrini
Poets and novelists are precious allies and their testimony must be esteemed very highly, for they know many things between heaven and earth that our school wisdom has not yet been able to dream of. They far outstrip us, we ordinary men, in the knowledge of the soul, for they draw from sources that we have not yet made accessible to science. - Sigmund Freud, Delusion and Dream in Jensen's Gradiva
Dans ses romans, Rayan a créé un fils idéal, reflet de l'amour qu'il lui porte. À force de croire en lui, il en vient à douter de l'existence du vrai. - Extract from the novel Meanders of oblivion, Rida Lamrini
Write. Write for oneself. Write to find oneself, to be with oneself. Write to fix the experience, to give body to a fleeting emotion. Through words, perpetuate the ephemeral moment before it fades. With letters, give soul to a thought, an idea, a fragrance. Then, like flowers scattered at sea, entrust them to the literary winds. Write to revisit the obvious, to reshape the real. Dig deep into oneself, pluck the insignificant buried in ordinary lives. Write to exorcise, to free oneself, to share. And if only one last wish remained, then please: Give me something to write. - Rida Lamrini
The desire to cry. Sometimes something rises, slowly, without precise cause, without face. A pressure behind the eyes, like a held tide. We think the tears will come, that they will finally break the silence, carry away what weighs. But nothing gives way. So everything stays there, suspended, neither said nor released. And what could have flowed away begins to sink. Because sometimes, it's not sadness that hurts the most, but what refuses to come out. - Rida Lamrini
The Echo of Giving. Rivers do not drink their own waters, and trees do not know the taste of their fruits. The sun exhausts itself to enlighten the other; the flower offers itself to the wind without expecting anything. Nothing stops. Everything circulates. Everything gives itself. The happiness that we keep suffocates and fades. Shared, it anchors and illuminates. Living is leaving a trace. Because whoever lives only for themselves crosses existence without ever inhabiting it. - Rida Lamrini
It wasn't the event itself that mattered. It was what it continued to produce, long after. Decisions made far from prying eyes never really die. They change shape, move, seep into other lives. - The Meanders of Oblivion, Rida Lamrini
Suddenly, a dry snap splits the night. Another. Then a brief, icy gust — too dry to be thunder. André starts. He holds his breath. Silence falls again, thick, unreal. Outside, the rain continues to strike the sea, heavier, duller, as if it were trying to cover something. - The Meanders of Oblivion, Rida Lamrini
They share in common the despair of an existence without horizons and together nourish the hope of a life elsewhere, which they project in color on the gray screens of their solitary dreams. - Extract: The Powerful of Casablanca, Rida Lamrini
Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited, while imagination encircles the world. — Albert Einstein —
How can we talk about humanity, how can we invoke a 'civilized' world, when some face the rain, the cold, abandonment, while others rest in the warmth, under a roof? As long as a single human being remains excluded from the common warmth, our collective dignity wavers. Humanity is not an achievement. It is measured every evening by the gaze — and the gesture — directed at those who no longer have a roof over their heads. - Rida Lamrini
If I disappear, don't immediately try to understand. There are truths that shift, that change shape when you try to grasp them. I didn't flee. I followed something I didn't yet know how to name. Sometimes, staying is more dangerous than leaving. Keep this in mind: what fades isn't always what dies. - Rida Lamrini, The Meanders of Oblivion
The novel placed before her is no longer a book. It is a trace, the only one he left behind. Memories flood in without order: interrupted conversations, muffled laughter, shared silences that, once, were enough. Everything that formed a link has folded into her, like an inner journey without return, a silent journey where she advances alone, weighed down by what has not been said. And in this peaceful living room, without noise, a trajectory has just tilted — that of Romy, perhaps, already in the process of dissolving in the brutal evanescence of Rayan. - Rida Lamrini, The Meanders of Oblivion
Who would have imagined that this apparently harmless encounter would one day lead her here, to the heart of the Sahel, in this Saharan Africa where everything seems more vast, more brutal, more real? Tonight, destiny prepares to write a new chapter of a story as ardent as it is dangerous. A story over which Samira has no control, but which she has chosen to live body and soul, like one throws oneself into a furnace hoping it will enlighten... rather than consume. - The Meanders of Oblivion, Rida Lamrini
When wounds remain open, when pain refuses to die out, when hope unravels and joys withdraw. When one loses a part of oneself, when one sees an entire segment of one's life being buried. When bridges break and voices fall silent. Then there remains only one word to say: Say sorry. Sorry to dispel misunderstandings, appease what has become tense, sew back what has been torn. Sorry to say: I regret, I miss you, I love you. - Rida Lamrini, THE MEANDERS OF OBLIVION
In a breath barely audible, in this instant suspended between night and day, she whispers to herself: “ Come back, Francés... wherever you are, come back to me... ” And as the dawn stretches out, a nameless night descends on her life — that night that took the man she loves, and in its wake the tender, fragile, luminous part of herself that she had only offered to him, this light which, until then, still lit her days. - Rida Lamrini, The Meanders of Oblivion
At the hotel, he contemplates, through the bay windows, the setting sun setting the Atlantic on fire. A golden light glides over the dark waves. The spray-filled air revives memories he thought drowned forever. - Rida Lamrini, Extract from The Meanders of Oblivion
Sometimes, it's the silences, the absences, that tell us the most about those we love. - Rida Lamrini, Extracts from 'The Meanders of Oblivion'
Extract from 'The Meanders of Oblivion': In the dark, Émilie approached without a sound. The soft light of the room carves her silhouette in gentle lines. She glides against him with that delicacy that bodies have which know each other, which find each other again. She coils around him, slow and supple, a silent embrace. Her breath matches his, their breaths synchronize. In a tender gesture, she places a light kiss on his neck, fleeting, so charged with emotion that it seems to open a breach in the air. - Rida Lamrini
And in this intimate stillness, Salim understands something that still eluded him. Everything that led him here — the childhood wound he carries like a secret scar, the stubborn quest for meaning, the loss that shaped his gaze, the night at Lake Annecy where his father returned from elsewhere, the visions that cracked his skepticism — all this was not scattered chaos, but a path. A rough, winding, disconcerting path, but a path nonetheless. A path that did not lead towards a miracle, nor towards an absolute truth, but towards a heart. That heart: Émilie's. A heart that knows how to think without judging. Which knows how to appease without erasing. Which knows how to love without invading. - Rida Lamrini
Two men walk side by side, their pace calmer, their pain less acute, a little less alone, carried by this fragile consolation born of a shared secret, linked by this strange solidarity that only those who have suffered understand. - Rida Lamrini, Extract from 'The Meanders of Oblivion'
In life, a tiny detail can suddenly become decisive. So goes the course of things: it's not always the best-laid plans that shape destiny, but the cracks, the gaps, the lost words. The great shifts in history do not arise with a crash; they are born in the unpredictable fragility of the accident. - Rida Lamrini
The time of respect! We are a generation that grew up in simplicity and humility. A generation raised in love, tolerance, loyalty and respect. Among us, the elders were sacred. The uncle was respected like a father, the aunt like a mother. Respect was not a word: it was a way of life. We were raised by parents who, for some, knew neither how to read nor write but who possessed a wisdom that many books cannot teach. They taught us discipline, modesty, kindness, respect and faith. They taught us to share meals, bread and even little secrets. We knew the neighbors by name. The neighborhood was not just a place: it was a family. - Rida Lamrini
One has the right to demand to be chosen without hesitating, without doubting, without disappearing. But before that, a question: have we really made them want to stay? Have we seen, recognized, welcomed what the other was already offering? Sometimes, we think we are an option... when we have, without wanting to, without knowing it, pushed the other to withdraw.... waiting for an awakening.... - Rida Lamrini
Rayan still exists in his way of thinking, breathing, moving forward. He has become that inner father that we carry more surely than those we look in the face. And it is perhaps that, deep down, which gives Salim this gentle gravity: he knows where he comes from, what he has gone through, and no longer apprehends what awaits him. He also knows that forgiving does not erase the wound. It only opens a passage, another way of living and moving forward. - The Meanders of Oblivion, Rida Lamrini
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