.... he always showers after a run. He is like me this way; the neurotic hygiene obsession— in this way we are the same as it is an intimate quirk of mine or it’s not ever going to happen; to let someone that close, skin to skin.... for all his earthiness.... he is always clean.... everywhere.... and smells so good; and he says,
“I won’t be long, min lilla duva....”
I watch him walk towards the bathroom as he strips off his clothes; he peels off the long sleeves of the black Henley that still clings to his back muscles that flex with every movement he does....
the sinewy of his back and arms hypnotize me
It is when I fall asleep waiting for him
a pathway has opened up. A passage through
This time I don’t run away,
I don’t run away anymore.... and only now I realize it has always been here where I seem to always be running back to
always running back to him....
in those shadowy unnameable dreams.
And only now do I know.... this is what I have been hiding from. Deep within my consciousness, this person’s memories, this ancient pain that can haunt a soul. Part of a repeated theme and pattern
.... the heavy sorrow
and the dream of the pirate on the boat.
The frozen land and that unreasonable fear of the Nordic sea. And only now do i know that I have been visiting him all these years
he has been there, somewhere buried in my mind. Haunting in my dreams.... and pulling me back to him; like the mermaid on the rock who traded her voice and dug out her guts
....I waited for him, and fell asleep
I dreamed of the enclosed hut with the fire pit, now cold and dark; I dreamed of the animal hides stacked on the floor; his familiar scent captured in the warmth of the furs that I bury my face into and watch the white of them turn blood red as I become colder and colder.... and recall that I feel such agony of longing and such sadness knowing that I am leaving him.... the pirate from the boat with the vampire eyes; how I love those eyes, with their ferocious beauty, like storms across the frozen Nordic sea
and slip into horrors, I am gone through the passage....
Time shifts; it overlaps. And runs in parallels as it rewinds and replays and plays its haunting symphony from out of time because time is not real; what ever was always is, it says in dreams. The pain never goes away, it never leaves; its memory indelible on the spine; it hits, it beats, it whips, it cuts, it tears into my flesh; it gapes apart these open wounds. There is no safety. No safety from the pain. As flesh tears away, as flesh is torn apart, as beauty is destroyed.... knowing I am leaving him as in slow measures blades carelessly carve, irrelevant of the girl’s torture as it licks into flesh; whip or bow or blade, the blood lets cascade in the laughing teeth as another takes a life cheaply. Sharply, deeply, through a passage, and through a glass starkly; the mortal blow is cast upon some cavity of an unborn child womb cocoon and doom is cast too long to last
The sadness of his vampire eyes the last time he looked....
I wake up screaming, still feeling the blade and the dead born in a flood
This time it was too real
“Wake up! Min lilla duva.... just a dream.... it’s just a dream! Wake up, min lilla duva!”
The strangeness of seeing him takes awhile to understand. He leans over me with dripping hair. It rains on me as he shakes me awake, falling in long blond streams around his face as he shakes me. It is a while before I stop confusing him with the dream, awhile before I realize she is not me. That girl is not me. She is not me. Is she....? Why should I ....?
Still
It is only because I wish never to go back to that place; not to that moment .... not want to see the disappointment there in the horror of his undead eyes that rain
I close my eyes and wrap around his neck, put my face into the pulse and tell myself: this is real.... he is real. I am here, this is now. But I am .... not sure I can believe it; I need to know
“I heard you screaming—“ he starts to say but then I am kissing his mouth, kissing him hard and throwing him back against the bed but he pulls his mouth from me and turns me over him as he moves over me to look into my face, he presses me into the bed looking wildly into my eyes, and says in a whisper in my ear, “you were having the dream.... I thought someone was here! you sounded like someone was murdering you—min Gud, shit! Was it so real?”
But I don’t want to go back there.
Instead of answering him I reach for him and pull him down to kiss him and he relents when I wrap my legs around his hips and cling to him as he says, “slow your breathing.... breath slower,” and says, “sshhhh....here, let me get dry, I’m soaking you, I just ran out when I heard you screaming....”
“Please no, Jörn....”
“Ok,” he says and laughs when I move my mouth down his wet body as I touch him with my hands to smell and taste him and put my mouth on him for the need of something real and of the flesh .... and this overwhelms everything along with the wanting that always comes as soon as he is near. The need to have him becomes everything; a kind of painful throbbing that is so urgent like some savage, desperate confirmation of life. He smells like pine and I put my mouth on him and feel his fingers in my hair as he cups my skull to him, “det är för mycket,” he says and stops me, pushing me back against the pillow on the side where he sleeps, pushes me hard into the sheets as he moves over me and deeply into me and it is only the brutality of his motions that takes away the nightmare
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