Diciott'anni [English translation]

He had just turned 18

with the face still of a child and yet already a man.

Like the summer, I caught fire—

and I spent my autumn watching him.

I lined my eyes with a bit of blue

and wore my hair down because he liked it.

When he came to meet me,

I would have given anything to seduce him.

He had just turned 18—

his age was all he needed for victory.

Why never talk about love?

He said that to talk about love is an old story.

He said to me, "I want you"—

his breath on me felt urgent.

An improvised bed and then

an immense sky opened up in his arms.

He had just turned 18—

that made him insolent in his self-assurance.

And it was as soon as he had dressed

that I, defeated, felt my loneliness return.

I wanted to tell him "stay here"—

but to stop him, I did not even make a gesture.

He told me "not bad, you know,"

with the pitiless candor of insensitivity.

I lined my eyes with a bit of blue

and put my hair a bit more up as I wear it every day.

I had forgotten for a while

that I am twice 18.

• Artist:Dalida