It came to me again, last night. The “I am in fucking Denmark” realization. I didn’t panic. Just closed the curtains in my bedroom, turn off the light and went to bed. Fell asleep quickly. Didn’t sleep great the night before, but that’s more of a habit than anything, at this point.
Slept on and off until midday. Had breakfast on the sofa, while watching the movie I couldn’t finish the night before. Then went to the toilet and sang my lungs out. I like how my voice echoes in the bathroom. Loneliness is not only bad, not all the time. There’s certain joy in it.
I wonder who reads these words. I wonder who cares about any of this, besides myself. I wonder about her, as well. What is she doing, who is she with. And M’s words come to my mind. “It took me a year and a half to move on after my ex,” she said once. Now they are best friends and fuck sometimes. Doesn’t sound like they actually moved on. But, maybe, that’s how love works, no?
Love. What do I really know about it? It lingers, that I can tell for sure. Even when it’s over, its presence doesn’t seem to leave. Stays inside and around me, like a mist, covering the future behind it. But there’s a future, slightly visible through this fog. It just takes a while to cross to the other side, to the next love to come.