And there I was again, all bitter, talking about my failure of a love life. She stopped me, right there. “You just weren’t meant to be together. If you were really in love of the British girl, you would be with her now” she said. I tried to argue, but she kept going. “And if your relationship with your ex was meant to be, why are you not together?” I nodded in silence. She had a point. M, the crazy Swede, was spot on. She was also butt-naked; sitting on the kitchen counter, sipping on a coffee and smoking in the window. It was 8am. Sun was coming in strong. We hadn’t slept shit. “Fuck sleeping!” she had said. And we did.
What a weird night/morning that was. It had all started months before, flirting on a dating app. Never would I thought that, as randomly as we started talking, I would end up at her place at 2am on that Saturday night. “Shall we meet?” was a message I couldn’t respond not to. Not after all that texting, all those expectations. Of course, I wasn’t prepared for what was going to happen. A brief moment of peace and deep, mind changing conversation; a very brief moment among all the nice weirdness. Among the loud music of her old LP player, her great selection of music, her castrated and sleepy cat, her surprisingly neat flat, her paintings, her semi-naked dancing, her childish smile… or simply, herself. One strange and equally fascinating experience.
Will I see M again? Sober? Drunk? Or at all? Who knows. Yet I can say for sure that her sex and her wild character felt like the beginning of a new era. A new start. A restart.