De kallar mig Princess.

Även Björn Borg. Och Karl Martindahl. (Och deras favorit är Tinklequeenie... men vi ska inte gå in på hur jag fick det smeknamnet.)

Jag gillar att tänka att det är för att de inte förstår sig på mode, de där vännerna på IB.
Fast jag är ju inte direkt någon fashionista.
Kanske är dags att inse att hårbandet passar bäst på ett lite dammigt golv längst in i garderoben?

Conversations linger on the floor

Jag skrev en medioker liten berättelse om kärlek som pinsamt väl röjer drömmarna jag hade om en pojke en gång.

Här, ni får läsa den.

It must have been winter, I suppose. I do not much remember days or holidays, but I distinctly recall the clouds of smoke as we exhaled, the sharpness of the cold from his fingers on my neck. December, must have been. His lips a little cracked from continuously being stretched into smiles all those freezing nights. Even as we would come inside, his hands and hair would stay cold a long time, eons, I'd tell him
and how am I to stand your touch when you're this cold?
Oh I think you can stand it. I think you can, he said
a smile, a grin, laughter
It was the first day I spent with Adrian. I hadn't seen him, hadn't touched him before.
A window stood open toward the busy street,
a city falling apart the newspapers read,
a city built on a fake island, of course it's bound to fall apart,
but not tonight, not in many years to come,
we were safe.
I hadn't physically been with Adrian for more than a day and I felt safe with him.
Garden State-safe.
This was big. It takes me two minutes to love you but it may take me years to feel safe with you, usually.
And Slussen that wasn't falling apart tonight. Were we? Perhaps we were. I might have been.
We were listening to Swedish music,
I stood on the windowsill, shouting loose phrases or nonsensical designations of my own when I didn't know the correct lyrics
a thin, cheap plastic glass of expensive red wine poised between my fingers,
you came to my feet, looked up at me.
I had the dark street behind me wrapping a frame around me: an aura, and the lightning in the room placed a golden glow around you,
you said
come down
come down, I want to show you something.
That is the oldest trick in the book and I am not falling for that
But you are falling from your high horses
he said, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me down,
we fell onto the floor
At least I fell for you.
What's that
I said I fell for you.
You did.
He pulls me closer,
conversations linger on the floor
long into the morning hours, his cheeks are rosy from talking and the lips from being kissed,
Adrian says he is sleepy and freezing
I tell him come with me. There's a bed you see.
I do not know why we don't close the window. The blankets are blessed wind-stoppers.
Are you sure?
There's room for one more. Do as you like.
He sits down and slowly undresses. When he is in his underwear, he swings his feet up onto the covers and leans his head back against the pillow.
I watch his chest rise and fall many times before I move closer. His gaze is out the window, distant. My hair brushing against his shoulder brings him back into the room.
It is December. I have known Adrian for more than a year, but I haven't touched and felt with him until now.
I have known him on a screen,
he becomes three dimensional between the sheets,
we start living
at last.

My cup(board) of tea

Förbluffande fakta of the week: jag är stolt (läs: galen) ägare av trettiofyra olika sorters te.

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