Open Heart

Standing in front of my boss at the stable. 

- I've gotta relieve my heart to you. It's time.  

- Okay? She asks - with that "I'm-not-sure-I-wanna-know-expression" written in her face.  

- Think I'm gonna leave you. And the horses. Living in the forest is not the same for me anymore - I need some people around me. Some café-living, some disturbing elements in my calm, lonely life. And I definitely need some music. 

- Oh. I thought you were going to take over your dad's farm and start a bed & breakfast? For when the Germans come over the brigde.  

Did I really say that once? Did I plan that? My God. Haven't I been disoriented. 

- Well, I'm not going to. Everything is different now that I'm single. 

I can't help wondering how I got here? On this silent spot in the middle of the world, where absolutely nothing has happened besides the things that happen automatically. Little things. And things that are hard to avoid. Like break-ups and wanting to travel or moving to a more buzzing place of the world. Did both of us go all this way out here because it was the thing the "united I" really wanted? Did we create this person together - with ideals, interests, habits and attitudes that were only existing when we were united? The funny thing is that none of us (as we are apart now) want this kind of living. So who created the need? Where is that person now? And should I make some kind of funeral? Burry it in the garden next to our (the person's) bird "Ovo" and the poor kitten, that lived such a short life? Put up a stone that says from april 2001 to november 2007? 

Should I be sad and shed some tears? 

I say a lot of words to my boss and she says something about liking my company and how important a good working environment is. And then she understands. That's nice. Or else I wouldn't have chosen her as my boss. But I like to be reassured. 

I did the whole round today. Declared my moving to Aarhus around the beginning of 2008. I have decided now. And the singular self is a woman of her word. 

For real! The only thing we can be certain of is that we are going to die. And that time passes. Just a week ago I was in Valencia... Thursday. We'd been in the aquarium (I'd like to spend one night in that big room with fish all over. Just to see what that might do to my dreams!), feeling a bit awkward about how to behave after finally having had sex the night before and then spending thursday as a couple - which none of us really wanted. I became a bit sad, because I missed our talks and magic, which the sex seemed to have chewed and swollen during the night. But then - the fantastic, repeating thing about the Valencia story - relieving my heart turned sadness into something better (unidentified still) and around this time (midnight) I think we'd be having sex again. 

Sometimes I get these "cramps" when I recall some of the hottest scenes. As if my body were back in delight of his touch. If sex is overvalued I don't wanna know. 

Rebecca

 

Still Awake

It's hard for me to stop being awake these days. Although the sleepiness are making my eyes heavy and sandy, there's something inside me that won't go to sleep. It's like I'm breathing for two. So alive. I'm starting to care less about some things. Sleep is one thing - being on time when it comes to work and other official responsibilities is another - and I just realised that I don't care as much about keeping a positive atmosphere no matter what as I used to. I think this is healthy. I welcome change. But I'm getting lonely. It's hard for people that know you really well to like changes. Why is this? Afraid of not liking the person that comes out on the other side? Or that the new person won't like the old friend? Because it reminds the person that they are stuck? I really don't get it. Somewhere I'm still afraid of people not liking me. Gotta risk some things now. It's about time. 

Rebecca

Still Trembling

A couple of times as I walked through the streets of Aarhus my mouth opened a little to let the tip of my tongue delicately touch my lips for at short moment. I guess they felt a little lonely suddenly. Missing the attention you gave them. 

Besides that Aarhus is a story in itself.

I'm on my way home. Spain is just a memory and tomorrow I will be entering the stable and greet the horses just as before I left. Only a week passed. Time is relative. It always seems to surprise to me. 

Looking at beautiful Danes in this train - focusing on their lips. When were the last time they were kissed? For real? We should all kiss some more.

I have this connection with the girl across me. She likes me and I like most people now. She is gentle and maybe turkish. Her lips a carefully shaped towards smiles and nibbling fruit. Although I think she mostly uses them for reciting prayers and shushing her younger siblings. 

Under Byen accompanies my writing for some time and I'd wish the whole train could hear the beauty of their songs. Things fall apart but they never forget about the things they left behind. 

I leave the turkish girl with potentials to herself and replaces train with bus in the very heart of Denmark. The bus driver is a mean, chubby woman, who won't let us in before the exact scheduling time, which makes me shiver uncontrollably to wake up her empathy and because there's no way I can help not to. Denmark is so freaking cold and harsh on me that I almost feel offended. I wear the glasses which only devotes to Spain and the things which overwhelmed me during the last week.

Pieces of sentences run through me. Things that you said. That I thought. And then this warm, tickling feeling between my legs because I haven't had sex today. I'm sure masturbation won't do the trick,  but I might try anyway. Imagining you lying on your back getting dizzy from my blowjob. The bus shakes my body and refuses to leave me alone. My God... It all ends up one place - your favorite one - and I wish you were still there. 

Turning my back on the cold I draw on my sleeping bag and get comfortable on the bus seat. It also has the benefit of hiding my left, non-writing hand, which unconsciously begins to touch and circle around the clitoris from outside the jeans. 

I didn't use to be like this. It is quite inappropriate. I don't think the reading, grey haired lady about to meters from me would appreciate it, if she knew. The three boyish teenagers behind me probably would. Not that I care. Not about this at least. 

My butt hurts. Force my fingers to calm down. It is only frustrating.

Rebecca