Dået och jaget

2006 använde jag cigg som stafett pinnar och vin som vatten... jag var nog inte så sprtig på den tiden

Augusti 2008 och jag

Mor är lite rädd för ponny, så jag fick tränsa och leda runt grannens ponny med syskonbarnen på ryggen. Sedan låg jag i vertikalt läge och funderade på livets mening, självklart utan resultat.

Körde till Drottningholm, delade ut psalmböcker sjöng med, väldigt falskt, försökte hålla mig för skratt när min far läste förbön. Det var det mest religösa jag hört honom säga i hela sitt liv... men de säger ju att när faen bli gammal blir han religös... Sedan hällde de vatten på systers huvud och hon heter numera något som rimmar.

Champange i höga glas i Bromma, log och skrattade, konverserade och log lite mera i svart klänning med goldbroderier och guldsandalettter. De flesta var brunare än jag, vad kan det bero på?

2008 Summer and me

Summer in Vegas, Vegas in the summer, I met you, you had the greatest smile of them all and the fastest skates. I adored you from the first time I saw you play in your low-cut olive green uniform and then we became friends.
I cracked jokes because I wanted you to laugh, free and full of joy. I never wanted to see you cry, I hurt like you when she said hurtful things. No one hurts my Summer, because Summer is full of sun, joy and light and not frozen in the darkness of the winter like me. I never asked to be winter, I just am, I am nothing but cold winter. I am a snowstorm and you melt me away leave me bare and naked and I don’t care that I am melting. You make me feel warm, just swept away by a Summer breeze…

Last rays of sun and me

In the North the fall comes with a few days of warning, and the winds bear with them a message of colder times. The tanned legs of the blonde girls are still uncovered in heals not suited for cobblestone or icy winters.

The pre-fall has an air of promises of dark nights in the arms of the one you love. Still that summer love will leave you , in the last rays of summer sun.
She will tell you that she has matters elsewhere and she will walk out of your life.
You will be left sitting in a Cafe staring into rain and falling leaves.

Your dreams and hopes just fell into the fall, and your tears are just like the rain on the window.

The fall is complete.

The dreams of her and me

Cobblestones made her heels slip and she held onto my shoulder, not my hand but my shoulder, I probably should have known by then. We were walking towards the venue, and for once she was letting me come to her show, a show that the newspaper had written up as one of the best of the season. Usually she would kiss me goodbye and walk out, leaving me staring at the wall, not wanting to ask for her to bring me with. I was fighting not to ask for her permission to come with, I wanted her to invite me, to want me around. She never did, so I worked up my confidence to ask her to bring me.

I couldn’t tell if she was thrilled or bothered by me asking, and I did not want to bother her with my questions, so I just came the night she took me. And now I did not know if I regretted it or not, her face covered in make-up made her into a creature I did not recognize, her body so familiar to me felt like the body of a stranger, restricted in a corset, stays and her feet in pointy heels, making her a head taller than me.

She took her clothes off on stage, with a greater feeling than she ever did in our bedroom, she smiled seductive towards the audience but I knew her eyes were seeking mine, all the doubts I ever had about her loving me were gone, in the second out eyes locked and our souls kissed. Her bra dropped and her tassels twirled, the adience was quiet and I knew she was mine. Forever and ever and ever…

Över gränsen och jag

Utanför suddas sundet ut, det regnar häftigt mot rutor och två flaggor möts målade på grå betong. Jag önskar att jag var påväg till henne istället för ifrån, hennes gröna ögon mötte mina och längtan grodde redan. Nu lämnar jag hennes land för mitt eget där jag känner mig som en främling.

¨Jag elsker dig¨

In a city where they mumble in a language that is not mine, I feel at home, I wait for a train on a station that’s grittier than Grand Central. The people that surround me are quiet, it is the morning rush hour, and we all have a place to be, I am crossing the border and I am crossing back to my native country, in ten minutes the language around me will be my native, with ha horrible south accent.

I am about to cross a bridge, I will cross water and I will look out the window and I will be home, but far from home, I have fallen in love with the gritty city on the other side of the sound. A place where you still can find apartments with shared bathrooms in the hallway, a place were the perfection of the society didn’t reach, not all the way.

I am not perfect, and I can find a peace in the absence of perfection, in the grittyness, in the drunk Greenlander on the street and a slight continental colonial air that surrounds the smoking hooker on the corner. Perfection and the search for such makes me choke and hide, I am everything but perfect, so I have been told, over and over and over again...