21. Take me back to heartache and complane, bring me down, knock me down./ I WANT A LOVER I DONT HAVE TO LOVE.

I needed this to stop, our I would die of desperation and sillyness.
I would become paranoid and I could not live my life under my covers waiting for an addiction that was not coming back.

Still, when I lived,
when I walked,
dreamt,
ate,
slept,
drank
and
ran,
I still just could not for the life of me get you out of my mind.

I used to count the times that I thought about you during a day, but could'nt, I could not count that high. I ran out of fingers, toes, even hairs.

Even though I was deep beneath countless layers of covers, pillows and blankets my whole body was freezing, from inside my heart and veins out to the tips of my toes. It did not matter how warm the room was, how many cups of tea with milk and honey I drank, my toes were still freezing and my heart was still stone cold, freezing to death.I hid deeper beneath the cover.

Started to think about heartaches that had passed.
How long time it took.
How alone I had felt.
This time was going to be different.
I knew that even though I could not get him out of my head I could get someone else in my bed.

20. I love your depression and I love your double-chin.

Today, 12.09 PM
I do not love you today. Today, my love is all out of stock. Maybe it´s temporary, maybe it´s forever. I just know that today I woke up feeling realistic and you are not someone I want to give my heart to only so you can eat it up and leave it like an eggshell.

Today you are not the apple of my eye
today you are not the object of my affection
today you are close not to being even a friend
today for some unexplainable reason I do not feel love or obsession or adoration for you, at all.
I don´t even know if I want to see you.

Maybe it´s a form of a self-protection mechanism of this heart of mine.
I do not know, and I am not keen on finding out either. It just feels so nice not to be dragging around my big malfunctioning heart all over the place again today. Maybe tomorrow it will start all over again, but for today, I can breath.

The plan lasted two days, five hours and 47 minutes.

Then I was back to wondering how your day was going, what you were wearing.
If it was your green shirt. If it was your favorite shoes. If it was those gloves I bought you.
Or, I didn´t buy them, they were originally mine. They were pink and actually to small for you but I knew that it was chilly outside and as you left my apartament that morning I thought it was a fair trade as I had already taken your white shirt. You made me swore I would never take it off. I made you swore the same with the gloves.And those were pink.Really pink.

19. But babe, I forgot, you sleep alone, only with god on your side.

She lived in her covers for days.

Her friends would sing her songs about past lovers but she hated them.
She hated them cause they where happy.
She was not.
They where talking about the hurt of former lovers with smiles on their faces and rings on their fingers.
Such hippocrits. Heartache is not heartache when you've got someone.
Then it´s just.. heart.

She convinced herself that no one had ever felt what she´d felt and now that the feeling was gone she wanted it to return more than ever. That feeling. Listening to the shins on the radio she remebered his every move, every step, every word that came out of his mouth.
To be desired had been her only wish for so long.

18. Go back to your dark clouds babe.

There was one time in my life when I used to think that love was something that came naturally, most likely in your early teen years and would stay forever, and the boy you fell for would be amazing and beautiful and completely sweep you off your feet and you would be his and only his forever. And he would make you breakfast in bed and always tell you he loved you and that he missed you when you came home.

My father did that. Every single day when my mom came home he would hug her, no matter how angry or tired she was, and he would hold her close, even though she was furious at him, and tell her that he had missed her all day. She would never say it back. She never would.
I think that in the end he did not care that much that she didn't. Maybe he knew she did. Or maybe he knew she didn't, not as much as him, but he did not care, he just wanted her to know. He wanted her to know that she would always be the apple of his eye.

I would wonder what she had done to deserve him. I knew, she was amazing, she so deserved him. But I could not help to feel so angry with her for having a boy to tell her he loved her every day and I did not have anyone. And I kept imaging that if I just had one I would never break his heart, I would never make him sad, I would just want to hold him in my arms forever and bake him cookies and write him letters and kiss him all over, all the time. I would want to grow old in his arms and when we would lie there, in a hospitalbed ,too old to talk, almost too old to breath even, I would keep him in my arms and kiss his forehead.

And we would know, that this was forever, and that I adored him and that he adored me.
We would take our last breath and wisper sweet words to each other and we would hear them, even thru the air and thru our non-functioning hearingaids.

Was I a fool to belive in everlasting love?
Was I a fool to think that what I had with the boy on the other side of the oceans was love, or that, one day, it would turn out to be love? Was my mind once again playing tricks on me and my heart blindfolding me, was it therefore I would get short of breath everytime I even just saw an picture of him?

17. The awarness that you did not love me back.

I can´t say that it was heartbreaking, cause it was not that dramatic.
It was not like it came as a shock, I had seen the scraps of the inevitable truth for a long time.
I studied your every move, word and look to the point that I finally realized that I was not in your mind the way you were in mine.
I smiled. Inside, I screamed.

I was so very tired of that, of falling in love without the assurance of love in return.

It could be one of the most terrifying things in this world.
Forget wars, economic crisis, world hunger, weapons of mass destruction.

Every soul on this planet walks around with their hearts in hesitation, in despair, in fear of what impact their actions will have on the object of their affections heart.

Sometimes it ends because some were brave enough to face the fear and put their heart out on a limb and risk it´s fall. And suceeded. Rescued their heart and made it ten times it´s original size.

Some know that the outcome will be good and their hearts are rescued aswell. But those hearts only grow twice as big. Cause they were not in it for the big price, the big win, the win it all or lose it all. They played with a safe bet.
Some people consider them cowards.
I consider them lucky.

Then there are the ones that never get the courage to try, cause they dread that the outcome of putting out their hearts on dirty metaphorical concrete roads for everyone to walk all over them will be crushing.

Their hearts will become like eggshells. They will live in fear and walk around with their hearts on satin pillows carefully moving away from crushing hands. But by putting your heart away for so long it makes impossible for anyone with good intentions to get near it aswell.
So they get to live with their eggshellhearts for the rest of their lives, alone.

I belive I will part of this group.
...Love´s some kind of lottery where you scratch and see what´s underneath it´s sorry, just one cherry, play again, get lucky...
Conor was singing those words thru my stereo and I realized that he had a point. Love´s like a lottery, you can bet everything you have and win the big price. Or you can bet all your life´s savings and lose everything. Or you can play safe and win the consolationprice.

It´s not fair, I don´t even gamble.
I´d rather be working for a paycheck that waiting to win the lottery.
that´s Conor´s words aswell.

16. I belive you took the best of me.

I can not write about his side of this story cause I dont know it. I can not know the true story cause everytime I try, it always turns out to be unrealistic lies.

You can not stay neutral when it comes to matters of the heart. It is impossible, even less when it is matters that involves your own heart. Either you will be to stubborn to realize that the other person has human faults aswell, or you will be too weak to realize that it was not all your fault. Every person has their bruises with love. Some more, some less. I do not know witch of those groups should consider themselves the most lucky. The beaten-up ones for having such an inmense sense of experience or the easily bruised ones for still having faith in the godness and love of people.

I called myself stupid for even inventing ridiculous excuses on your behalf and crawled under the covers, despereate to get a new kick from my addiciton. You, that is. But you where not there, I could not get high on your invented words and your whisperings sounds from the other side of the country.


Sometimes, while walking down the streets of my neighborhood, in the town where I have resided my entire adolescent life I wonder how many lovestories that were in the making just watching the people walking down beside me.

There were an old couple, holding hands maybe just for the sake that it was the only way for them to not fall flat on their bums. Or maybe that was the obvious reason, but the underlying reason was that they had lost everything besides each other.

Their parents were long gone, their grandparents aswell, many of their friends, brothers, sisters, former lovers, former friends. Maybe even sons and daughters. They where holding on tight because they treasured each other so highly that they knew that by letting go they where letting go of the only thing that they truly had left in this life.

I knew that I was probably wrong, that that was not their lifestory at all, they had maybe met as 30-year olds, both bitter from losing their adolescent loves and got married for the sake of not being alone. Maybe they had spent their entire lives together dreaming and imaging their young loves instead of the person laying next to them.

I knew that was a possibility.

I decided to belive the first alternative though. It was the less bitter option and as my lovelife was in ruins I could simply not bare of the thought that other people were having to experience that same pain aswell.

15. I wish that without me you´d be spending the rest of your nights awake.

My room was filled with the memories of you, I layed alone in my bed and I remembered that night when you sat on the bedside, reading my books. When we hardly knew each other, when we first had met. And I would look at your brown hair falling in front of your eyes, your chin that trembled as you knew that you where being observed.
Now I was alone in my room, running my fingers up and down my sheets, watched how the white fabric ran thru my manicured hands. I looked out the window and remembered that night you stood outside with the stereo on full blast playing our favorite song and singing along until my neighbours got up and yelled at you from every single window in the building.
The dogs yelled, the babies cried and the old ladies screamed, and I lauged and I lauged and you smiled and just continued to sing.

Now my window was empty and when I looked outside the dogs would not yell, the babies were sound asleep and the old ladies just watched their soaps. My neigbourhood was quiet without you and I had been with you for so long that I had forgotten what I used to do without you.

You stopped calling.

I did not think of it much. I was occupied with everyday life and I assumed you were aswell.
And the next night, and the night after that and the night after that I could not sleep until sunrise and the small strings of light touched my window. I could not sleep because the silence was too loud. It kept me awake. I tried to wisper some imaginary words to you, but I never heard any back. My phone kept not running out of battery and that made me sick. I had gone from happy to desperate. I needed you, you where my sleepingpills. Or my pills to survive.
You had me addicted and now I was forced to quit cold turkey.

14. Dishonestly.

I remember the first time I saw you, your eyes and your smile and the shadow of your dimples made my heart beat so fast that I got an headache.
I remember talking to you like I had not done anything else in my entire life.
I remember that you knew all the lyrics from my favorite song cause it was your favorite song aswell.

You would call me from your apartement far far away and we would listen to each others breaths for hours.
And if we stayed quiet for too long, we would immedeatly talk at the same time and pour similar words all over each other.

We would talk until I got permanent marks from my cellphone on my skin, we would talk until I had no more words in me, nothing left to say to you, and you none for me, so we would make up words, we would make up words and tell them to each other.

And I would wake up at the middle of the day with dark circles under my eyes due to lack of sleep.
We would talk until our cellphonebatteries died and until the lightbulbs would explode from overuse. But we did not care, we would keep talking in the dark, whispering words so quiet that we thought the words would send themselves over the city, over the country and into the others ears.
Last December, 13th
You stopped calling.

13. This January 24th

Your silence is killing me so slowly
and it´s eating me up
to the point when I think
that maybe it would be better
if you just said that you´ve forgotten me
cause at least then I would know that you´re still living,
just not for me anymore.

PART TWO: THIS MESS WE CALL LOVE.

I can´t belive your not here with me anymore.
I can´t belive I am not where you are.
I can´t belive that you are somewhere else today,
and yesterday and probably tomorrow.

12. I´m going back to the start.
It was when she still got starstruck by his upperlip and he still got chills from her words.
When she met him, she tried to behave.

And when she talked to him he sounded like her, like the old her, the real her.
The one that collected postcards and held an lifetime of angst in an eraser from high school.
She would walk to his part of the city and they would sit by a big metal bridge and she would mess with his mind. He told her that he used to dream about the things she told him, the things she said to mess with his mind. And she would smile and consider herself a part of his world.
And so the summer came and they would spend hours listening to the same music on different places. You see, he was away a few weeks visiting his brother and left her temporarly, along with his black leather jacket and his shins-cds. She would put that jacket on and walk around his part of town for hours. Since she had nothing better to do during those weeks, he got more and more inside her head.

She did not know if it was love or simply boredom.
They do belive it was a little bit of both.

And he would come back after an eternity of shins-songs and they would stand for hours on the trainstation just looking at each other and update their memories of what the other person looked like.
He had gotten freckles and her hair was not as dark anymore. They would sit there and she would touch his freckles and he would run his hands thru her hair.

And his hands would get stuck in her hair, as no one had runned their hands thru it in such a long time. And then they would laugh and he would kiss her on the cheek over and over again, until she got freckles and his hair turned lighter. And she returned his leather jacket and he would say that it smelled just like her.

Her favourite thing was that when we took the train they would always sit facing each other, and, noone would notice that their knees where touching. And they would secretly look into each others eyes, look away, and start to talk with someone else. And they would both get all sorts of butterflies in their stomachs, just from having their knees pressed against the others.
They would meet up at their friends houses and look at bad movies for hours and hours in the night. He would sit at the very back, in the corner of the couch. She would act like nothing was happening as she gently moved closer and closer to him, util she almost had her head in his lap. In the corner of the couch in the unsuspecting darkness their hands were braided together for hours. They could be silent for such a long time, not having to say a word, and at one moment, they would get sick of the silence at exactly the same time and talk all over each other.


Fighting with him was the most fun she´d ever had. They would go into a room and start to talk until the room was filled with their words. And he would say something, and she would say something against it. And he called her crazy and she called him crazy and he called her a copycat for saying that he was crazy aswell. And he would call her unreasonable and
she would smile and laugh and then push all the awful and meningless words out of the room and kiss his freckles until they turned pink from her lipstick.
She loved fighting with him. She could argue with him about anything and everything.


They would sit in the library reading the same kind of litterature, but still having their ipods on, listening to heavy-metal as they trained themselves to look fully concentrated on the Dostojevski litterature they were reading.
She would make him mixtapes and he would write down every sentence in the songs that he thougth of her.
He would call her in the middle of the night and tell her how much he missed her and her music and her words and her freckles when he was away.
When his brother got worse, the phonecalls were less and less continuing. She had not given up on him but she would catch herself wondering more and more about love during the days. Sitting in his leatherjacket on the park surrounded by sympathetic ducks, listening to the garden state-soundtrack and wondering if this was it.
Was this it?
Was this all she got, and if it was, what was she complaining about? She had everything anyone could wish for, and stew. That horrible stew.