One last goodbye by Anathema

How I needed you
How I grieve now you’re gone
In my dreams I see you
I awake so alone

I know you didn’t want to leave
Your heart yearned to stay
But the strength I always loved in you
Finally gave way

Somehow I knew you would leave me this way
Somehow I knew you could never, never stay
And in the early morning light
After a silent peaceful night
You took my heart away
And my being

In my dreams I can see you
I can tell you how I feel
In my dreams I can hold you
And it feels so real

I still feel the pain
I still feel your love
I still feel the pain
I still feel your love

And somehow I knew you could never, never stay
And somehow I knew you would leave me
And in the early morning light
After a silent peaceful night
You took my heart away

Oh I wish, I wish you could have stayed

Childhood memories

My childhood still stands as a very clear picture to me and I often find myself remembering, if I sense the smell of freshly cut grass maybe. Freshly cut grass reminds me of my father in the garden a warm summer evening and he is in his work clothes and with day-old stubbles. I myself am 8 years old and just put to bed. But who can sleep after a long wonderful summer day where the only limitations we experience is lack of imagination. Who can sleep when the sound of the lawnmower bussing at 5 minute intervals past your window and all you want to do, is to jump out of bed and run out onto the newly cut grass with bare feet and feel the evening dew lying on the grass. And then I do, and my excuse to my mother is that I have not said goodnight to my father. I clearly remember her face when she looks at my feet and I run away in bare feet instead of putting on my sandals. Now she’s finally got me clean from top to toe; you can’t go to bed with your feet dirty. But I do not care and feel perhaps a slight rebelious, when I run through the grass. Who cares about having complete clean feet, when it is summer? They’ll get just as dirty again the next day.I run through the grass and feel the soft ground beneath my feet. It is quite cold, even though the sun has baked all day. At the back of the garden, I can see that my father has put out the sprinklers to water the veggies. Oh, who, however, just might be allowed to run one last time through it before you are put back under the overly warm blanket.  

I run down to my father and jump into his arms. There is a sweet smell of sweat, gasoline and grass around him and and I can feel his stubbles on my cheeks, as he gives me a goodnight kiss. He throws me over his shoulder and I know he has thus decided that today he is the peasant husband and I am a sack of potatoes, which must be put in place indoor with the woman. The woman in this case, my mother and the place is back in my bed. But it’s really quite ok, because I got my five-minute experience of freedom, when I ran out and said goodnight. A ritual my dad and I had almost every evening throughout the summer of my eighth year. A memory stored so well in my heart, that every spring when the grass is cut for the first time, I feel like that eight-year-old girl. A time where what hurt the most was to be put to bed a hot summer night.

To much information!

Do what you want, on the right side of the law. I don’t wanna know about it especially not if you wanna be buried with the ashes of your dead dogs! Jezz! AND KEEP IT OFF NATIONAL TELEVISION! I don’t wanna pay for that kind of information!
And you know what….? On the first date I don’t wanna hear that you think all women are bitches and they only go after the bad boys to end up getting hurt! Shut up! Apparently I’m not of one of them if I’m sitting here with you. And I don’t wanna hear about all the good looking girls on the other side of the world and that you should never have come back home. If you don’t shut up now I’ll pay the bill and leave…then you have saved some money for the next ticket downunder, because seriously I couldn’t care less if you are here physically if your mind´s not here anyway. And if you tell me you are not superficial and believe in the good in people, don’t call yourself Gucci1mill on your profile….it’s just so damn hard to believe you then.

creepy neighbour and bad nutella!

So I woke up early this morning and thought this is going to be a good day, the sun is shinning, it is ideal for rollerskating later today, I have brunch plans with my brother, feeling good in body and brain after the fast 5km run yesterday and the dress fits perfectly…what would make my day really really good, would be a date with an intelligent handsome gentleman.
So with that on my mind and feeling pretty positive about the day to come I pop down to the laundromat…and meet creepy neighbour who can’t look me in the eyes but still keep staring at me with nasty eyes. I hurry up and forget to hang all the wet clothes in the basement and brings it up to the flat, so now the place has been re-decorated with freshly washed clothes hanging to dry on the chairs, just to avoid going back to the basement and meet creepy guy!
Well, meeting up with my brother for brunch and lamp-shopping. Windy cold autumn weather outside but the sun is still shinning. Going to Globen Flakket to get their weekend brunch buffet and it’s perfect until I choose the crunchy nutella on a slice of bread…..urrrg nasty….I forgot I don’t like nutella anymore after last winter buying the biggest jar in Netto and eating it everyday for two months. Feeling the crunchy nutella getting more and more sticky in my mouth growing into a big sticky nutelladumpling that is impossible to swallow. Looking quite funny trying to swallow something while my throat fights against it. I wash it down with strong coffee and making note to myself: “never ever eat nutella again(at least not the sheap one).”
Ending the afternoon with an episode of Doctor House and a cup of herbal tea, convinced that that is going to make me feel not so bad about the big naughty brunch! and the money I could have saved eating breakfast/lunch at home and at the same time avoided the bad crunchy nutella.

ignorant happiness!

So I was looking at old pictures from my trip to NZ with the man that went away and it made me feel alienated and sad because I could not recognize the girl in the pictures. I could not remember the person I was then or identify myself with the smiles. But I do remember that that girl was very happy. Despite occasionally tears of confusion over life from a failure to behave predictably it was not tears of loss, grief or despair. And it was only when feeling really down.
So that girl was happy and pretty sure – not where life was taking her- but that it was going to be a damn good journey. The pictures tell me a story about a not too serious a girl trying to have fun and really enjoy every moment. Did I somehow know? All the imaginary photos and memories are stored in my private computer and sometimes when I close my eyes and focus real hard I can still feel his stubbled chin on my neck kissing me goodnight. I am glad that at least I have that.

So finally I got a picture of me wearing my favourite miss vera skirt and even though it ain’t the best of pictures I’ll publish it anyway because I love the skirt so much!
What a great night that was anyway…with lots of good silly friends, bubbles, rum and cake! And a fantastic ride in to town in a 50 year old light blue Lada almost like the one my granddad had with leather upholstery even on the ceiling and just as noisy!

Hopefulness!

So here I sit again infront of the computer listening to the dear Paolo Nutini and feeling more and more convinced that it is possible to fall in love with a man just because of his voice! And if that is the case then maybe it is possible for me to fall in love again in general. Looking back two years I’d never thought it possible to ever love again because the love I had never went away when he did! But now I am hopeful and looking forward to finding another different love to give where there is room for the one that never went away!

I’m trying to put all my thoughts, writings and stories together so it will make some kind of sense. I have signed up for a course “Write your life” and I am not quite sure why except I think I have some kind of interesting story to tell. I just need a little help because I’m not sure how to start or where to start.
Or maybe it is just because I’m trying to give my life substance and I can’t wait around for the knight in shinning armour no. 2 to show up or pull his act together. I have joined a political party as well, not because my own life is bad or badly influented by the government, but because I think there is a lot of people who need someone to fight their fights and maybe I could be one of those people that fights….and maybe if I need it one day they will fight for me!

It’s fashion darling!

To all my favourite women in the world, from Norway to New Zealand, from Latvia to Montana,
who love the outfits in Madmen but is still pleased to live in a century where it is ok to be an independent woman, get tattoos without being misjudged as white trash, wear baggy jeans on a lazy tuesday and dress up in petitcoats and circle skirts on a cheeky thursday and choose a man that fits the outfit instead of the other way around. It’s fashion, it’s a lifestyle and it’s a game…and you can find it all at www.missveraclothing.com