The bull and the red dress
.
So Kattis sent me one of those hand-written letters…
.
That tends to be a bad thing.
.
Or rather, you can count on it being sincere.
.
And it was. The sort of letter saying “If you’re going to try, go all the way” or don’t bother trying – she wanted us to jump in with both feet into this if we would keep seeing each other.
.
I thought of it for a moment. Checked my heart, brain and body for any objections or traces of doubt.
It felt very clear that this was something I truly wanted to do, with all of me.
.
I wrote a letter in return and then went to bed, as I had to get up at 5 am the following day. See, it would be my first time at the APU of the medical education I’m attending, so I was both fairly thrilled and equally anxious.
While I can’t and wont share (m)any details of what was going on in the old people’s home I can share how it was a surprisingly pleasant experience – both thanks to the kind elders in my care and my ace co-workers.
.
As I went by bike across town in the afternoon, to Kattis’ school, I found myself smiling and singing Håkan Hellström’s song Precis som Romeo in the sunshine. It was a fine day and I was set on setting things straight with Kattis and make her understand how I truly wanted to discriminate the whole world for her sake – treating them with less love than I would share with her.
.
You know in movies and musicals where people are happy and the whole worlds just smiles at them and high-fives them as they pass by? That’s how it was.
Literary.
As I rolled down a narrow street some punks blocked the way. As they took note of me they tried their best to step aside, greeting me with a joy-filled “Lovely day, isnt it?”, raising their palms for me to press as I rode by.
“Indeed it is!”
.
It all felt very filmistic fantastic.
.
.
In the end Romeo got his Juliet and the morning after I woke up with her snoozing in my embrace, telling her how I’m hers now.
.
(the bull in the diary is a shadow we made out to resemble a bull on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. Actually it’s some towels casting a shadow from a candle next to her bathtub. The title of the diary is the name of some poems I once wrote. Poems I am fairly confident will not make themselves reminded with her, as they are about something I need to overcome in order to commit to a relationship. I won’t charge relentlessly at just about anything henna-colored from now on.)
.
