The same
night. Dreams. A bad dream first. That kind you’re happy you wake up from. Then
another one. A museum. We go there a lot although we don’t understand stuff. We
like to watch. Yes, that’s actually the ultimate truth. And you are there. You
and the band, spread in the museum, everyone looks at different things. You,
walking in the hall, surprisingly dark hair.
“How come
his hair is so dark?”
“It’s
because it’s short now. But when it grows, it’s gonna be blonde again.“ she says.
Why museum
this night? Maybe because we were passing one on a bus, in search for a new
life, the day before. “We’re gonna go there!“ she said. I agreed, as usual.
We’ve been to many in Sweden. Never seen so many museums in our country.
I wonder if
you go to museums sometimes. What brings you to a museum. What does it mean to
you who probably have more knowledge and opinions and interest than me. How
long you stand there looking at something that catches your attention. How do
you feel when you leave. How much you remember.
On a train,
reading the book about you. The book that made me cry. Thinking of you in a
different light. Thinking of you as a fiction character again. It’s not you who
talks in the book. It’s not your love story and still, it is. What would you
think of the way you are there? I can’t stop thinking about it today. The real
you, the you who wrote yesterday’s post to the blog, that’s a mystery. But in
the book you’re the way you seem.
Two books
about Kristian now. One you have been writing for a long time. And the one
someone else has written and I have read now. No real connection between them.
No cooperation. The whole magic of it. There’s so much magic to life sometimes.
The magic that makes you cry over the beauty and sadness of it. The dreams
never quite separated from the reality. Luckily.
Have you
ever lived in a dream more than in reality?
Katerina
