The ground is covered in soft foamy snow and the air is white and cold. From my window I see lights in the other houses and in my mind I imagine them gathering around their tables for breakfast or their kids in pyjamas in front of the tv watching cartoons. The warm and bitter scent of coffee and freshly made bread fills the air in every home. It is quiet outside like a big duvet has been lowered over the world and I feel warm and safe here in the place I call home.
Holding on to old tickets and travel schedules, parfume and a green Marvel t-shirt, burned dvd’s with rugby games and a death certificate doesn’t make any sense any longer.
It did for a long time and it was hard to get rid of it. But now it is time, though still taking small steps. Changing the pictures on the wall, but still saving them in my memorychest, acknowledging that it is part of my life and always will be but it is time to store it under the past.
It no longer defines me and where I am in my life. It is part of me and has shaped me just like all the other stories I’ve experienced in my life – good and bad. But now it is time to make room for new twists and turns down the road and keep the memory of a man as a beautiful souvenir!
Oh welcome back sweet tingling feeling. How I missed you! That first kiss that makes all the other future kisses fade by the memory and makes all the butterflies go crazy in your body! How wonderful to be losing sense of time and just getting lost from the world outside. Doesn’t matter if you stay awake until four in the morning because tomorrow doesn’t exist. And even if it does, you will stay awake on that ecstatic feeling from the endorfines.
He was buried a saturday in February. A warm summer day in New Zealand. A cold winter day back home in Denmark. He was buried on the top of his family’s cemetery in the valley surrounded by the beautiful mountains, the sea still rushing from afar. It was a hot day, which started with a quiet trickling rain, that covered the valley and our already tear stricken faces as a humid veil. But when he was carried in his coffin up to his final resting place, the rain had stopped and the sun burned its way into our skin and left us marked. When we lowered him down, everything was quiet before a strong wind dried the tears away and gave new air to our tired minds and bodies. He was gone. Everything powerful and strong and physical that was him was now gone. It was laid in the ground. We were left vulnerable and abandoned as individuals who each had lost a little of themselves when he left our world with all the stories, all the un-said, all the un-dones and with all our feelings plastered on the outer layer for the world to see, that we all had lost something beautiful.
Why is it that I always get myself into trouble?! Well not real trouble, were somebody gets hurt or anything, just enough trouble to hurt myself…in the way that my head is about to explode because if all the thoughts I have or because of the moral hangovers I get. I have been hungover a handful of times, but there isn’t enough toes og fingers to count the times with the moral hangovers. Do I think too much, do I judge too much or do I really get myselv into real trouble? Or am I trouble? I have been told one or twice that I am… but who can believe the troubled ones?