The days go by slowly. Slowly, as well, Anna vanishes from my mind. I won’t text her, because I wouldn’t know what to say after Saturday, and I don’t wanna bother her. She won’t write, maybe for the same reason, or just because “fuck it.” And these days will become weeks, and the weeks, months. We will become strangers, in time. Washed away memories. Silhouettes in the landscape of the past. “My crazy days in Copenhagen,” we’ll say, when we look back. Or that will probably be just me.

It’s funny. People that once were important to us simply disappear. Were they important at all, then? And what is important, anyway?