I dont eat, not at all, I refuse to eat.
I am just not hungry.
I don't want the food.
Not now, not ever...
I am just not hungry.
I don't want the food.
Not now, not ever...
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
I just want to run away
Nothing is fair in the world, I have this feeling that I've failed everything
That the world is coming down crashing on me, that I can only get the second best.
That the world is coming down crashing on me, that I can only get the second best.
My city...
When
I was born my city was different from what it is now, still it was very much
the same. It lies between the salt and the sweet water and there is a lock in
the middle of the city where you could look at boats crossing from the lake to
the Baltic Sea. My parents had a boat, so I was never one of the people peering
down on the boat people. I was always a person peering up when the water under
us were going up or down, depending on if we were leaving or coming back to the
city.
My city is islands and bridges, old and new buildings lining the water, the water is clean and as a young adult we would dance the night away (well until 3 am when the bars HAD to close) and then we would stumble into the lake. We would throw our clothes off and then throw our naked sweaty bodies into the lake in the light summer night. The cold water would clear our minds and prepare us for the walk back home, hand in hand.
The summers of my city are short and light, the typical sign of being the in the North, so we celebrate the light. Intense summers fueling us to live through the dark winter that is only lit up by the heavy snow, that will cover the everything, cover the square castle where the king actually doesn’t live. Snow will cover our city hall, with its high tower topped with the three crowns that the rest of the world recognizes on our national hockey teams jerseys. It’s dark, and when the snow doesn’t fall, the years it’s late and global warming has a grip on us, we are stuck in darkness that hoovers over us. We hide in our apartments away from the world, our white walled apartment’s furniture with IKEA staples and vintage eclectic style, maybe a wall of color, orchids in the bay windows and a large TV, a flat one.
My city is green in the summer, it has parks and it is surrounded by pockets of forest and to the east the famous archipelago spreads out, reaching towards Finland. From the heart of the city white ferries leaves every day to take people out to the islands, the people without their own boats. Packed up with packed lunches and camping gear they head out from the city and return with the same boat, same day or another.
I love those islands; I and two French friends spent an epic day a few years back on one of those islands, a brother and a sister. It was a summer when my heart was sad and I held myself close to both of them, the brother held me in his arms and we ran along the shoreline, with the smell of kelp and it reminded me of my childhood. The granite rounded after the last ice age, it smelled of warm stone and noting but patches of grass grows right there next to the sea. In the woods under the tall pine trees we found blueberries and our hands were stained purple and so were our mouths when we kissed.
My city is islands and bridges, old and new buildings lining the water, the water is clean and as a young adult we would dance the night away (well until 3 am when the bars HAD to close) and then we would stumble into the lake. We would throw our clothes off and then throw our naked sweaty bodies into the lake in the light summer night. The cold water would clear our minds and prepare us for the walk back home, hand in hand.
The summers of my city are short and light, the typical sign of being the in the North, so we celebrate the light. Intense summers fueling us to live through the dark winter that is only lit up by the heavy snow, that will cover the everything, cover the square castle where the king actually doesn’t live. Snow will cover our city hall, with its high tower topped with the three crowns that the rest of the world recognizes on our national hockey teams jerseys. It’s dark, and when the snow doesn’t fall, the years it’s late and global warming has a grip on us, we are stuck in darkness that hoovers over us. We hide in our apartments away from the world, our white walled apartment’s furniture with IKEA staples and vintage eclectic style, maybe a wall of color, orchids in the bay windows and a large TV, a flat one.
My city is green in the summer, it has parks and it is surrounded by pockets of forest and to the east the famous archipelago spreads out, reaching towards Finland. From the heart of the city white ferries leaves every day to take people out to the islands, the people without their own boats. Packed up with packed lunches and camping gear they head out from the city and return with the same boat, same day or another.
I love those islands; I and two French friends spent an epic day a few years back on one of those islands, a brother and a sister. It was a summer when my heart was sad and I held myself close to both of them, the brother held me in his arms and we ran along the shoreline, with the smell of kelp and it reminded me of my childhood. The granite rounded after the last ice age, it smelled of warm stone and noting but patches of grass grows right there next to the sea. In the woods under the tall pine trees we found blueberries and our hands were stained purple and so were our mouths when we kissed.
Thursday, June 4, 2015
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