Kärlek till ett Ex

Älskar Du Henne?

Du älskar henne inte

Nej

Du älskar henne inte

Varför gör det mig så glad?

Jag vet inte

Jag vet inte

Men jag svävar på små moln

Du älskar henne inte

Älskat ex

Det är löjligt, ja visst

Att bli så lättad

Och så glad

Bara av att höra

Din förklaring till vad jag tolkat

Som att du var kär igen

För nu har det gått ett halvår

Sedan vi sa

Nu är det slut

Och ändå vill mitt dumma hjärta

Dansa runt och slå bakut

Du älskar inte henne

Du är visserligen inte min

Men du älskar

Inte henne

Och det gör mig lycklig

Not completely fine

I'm sad and scared and strangelingly tired. I miss him. I miss him to tears, to threads, to  tiny pieces of trembling red heart-ache. I miss him.


You hugged me so hard
When we said good-bye
You kissed me so sweetly
I wanted to cry
Into your warm chest
I whispered "love you"
Then your train left
and the sunshine went too

Insomnia

Insomnia strikes hard

As the clock strikes four

I watch you crying in your sleep

Like every night before

I listen to your ragged pleas

Whilst leaning at the door

I feel your horror stabbing wildly

Aimed at my soul’s core

I don’t know how I stand it

Guarding you each night

Dying slowly, breathing hard

You’re drowning in your fright

In this utter darkness

Even I can’t see the light

But I have to keep you strong

And help you win this fight

I’m not doing this for you

I’m neither good nor grand

It’s to a selfish need I tend

A secret, strong demand

Without you air just hurt my lungs

It’s like I’m breathing sand

And my skin will always crave

The touch of your warm hand

So Tired.... So Happy....

I'm having lunch with a deer today. It's right outside my garden, eating grass and flowers, about twenty meters from where I sit with my plate of veggies. It's brown, graceful and so small it's hard to see in the high grass of the meadow. 

I was going to write about the stress of preparing the house for my sister's graduation party, finding an apartment, falling (big time, for the second time in my life) for a guy who actually likes me and keeping track of three types of medicines. I'm not thought. Watching that deer as I breathe warm summer-air and fill my tummy with cool bell-peppers and cucumber makes me relax. I've still got a ton of stuff to do, but I'm not stressed out anymore. 

And, also, I'm happy. 

I managed to stay single for a week and felt a bit guilty for finding someone just seven days after breaking up with Love, but it's okay now. We've gone our separate way and mine happened to cross that of my boy-o. It feel right, it feels good, it feel mind-boggeling and knee-wobbeling scary. 

I'm happy.

I'm actually happy.

Morning, Sickness!

Two guys died in my hometown. They were two years older than me, exactly the same age as my boy-o and less than a month away from graduation. They will never grow up, get married, divorced or have a mid-life crisis. They're dead.

I didn't know them. I wouldn't have recognized them if I met them in school. But now I'm sad for them and their family. Some of my friends did know them. Most of my friends didn't.
And none who didn't ever will.

Get over it, please

Yes, you were a lovely boyfriend
Yes, I'm sorry too
But I'm not ever coming back
I really have left you

Sure we had a good time
and sure, you made me smile
But love turned into nothingness
after a short while
 
So stop calling me your sweetheart
and demanding one last kiss
Stop texting, talking, e-mailing and writing

You say that you still love me
But I'm not the girl you miss
She is dead and I am sick of fighting

Sparrow's Song

She flew oh, so high, her voice was her wings. She was beautiful, insanely passionate and a completely magnificent singer. She also was moody, lead a life more tragic than anything Shakespeare wrote and died before she turned fifty.
I am, of course, writing about Édith Piaf, la môme. Even thought I listen to heavy metal, punk and ska I think she might be is the musician who's voice I'd miss the most if I'd ever go deaf. She's great.

I wish I had her voice and pretty hair. But I don't.

What Verdandi and Édith Piaf have in Common

• We were both born in the 20th century
• Our fathers both spoke French
• We've both been to Paris (she lived there. I don't)
• We're white women (or, well, I am and she was)
• None of us went to Hogwart's. I think. She might have.... Hmm....

Oh, how I wish that list was longer. *sigh*