Snippets

Love and Writing

“You should write too, you know!”

It’s Eira I have to thank for starting writing this. We started talking about it while we lay on the bed and relaxed. We just lay there side by side, lying on our backs in bed. I completely relaxed, I thought of everything and nothing. “Isn’t it hard to write like that?” I asked. “No,” she laughed, “no problem when you get used to it.”

She looked at me and smiled. “You know, writing, it’s just a habit, another habit that you get used to, like everything else.”

She smiled at me. Stretched her hand toward me, and I took her and kissed her. “You should write too, you know!” “No,” I said, pulling at it. “Don’t say that, I can’t write.” “Yes you can, I’m sure.” “I can’t do that. Writing was the worst thing I knew at school.” ‘Don’t think about it. Don’t think about school. Don’t think about what you didn’t achieve. “ “Writing about feelings — no, I’m not so good at writing about that — I don’t think so.” “Well then. You who are so good at emotions! ”

She smiled at me. She leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. “Of course you can write, you who are a very sensitive man, you can certainly write!” “No, you don’t know me.” “Don’t I?” “You don’t know that side of me.” “I mean, you should write today. For your own part — writing is a very good way to put words into things in your life. “ “I can’t.” “Yes you can. Everyone can!”

She laughed at me, her smile shining white at me. “To write — you just write for your own sake.” “But does that make sense then?” “Yes, you use it as a diary, a notebook where you write things down to remember.” “Remember? — Then what?” “Yes, for example, you can write to understand -.” “Understand-?” “Yes, listen, I’ll tell you one thing. Do you know that when I write something down and see what it says on the paper — it’s like it gets more real.”

She leaned over me against the bedside table. I knew her weight over me. It felt good. She reached for a ballpoint pen and a sheet lying there. “Look here,” she said, “Look here. On this sheet I write something. I write a few words, and then it’s there, you know!”

I looked at her as she wrote. — All the time he surprises me. She is so strong, so full of life, so full of inventions and energy. Creativity, which she transmits to me. “Look here,” she said, “Look here, read this. Read it aloud to me!”

“I LOVE YOU,” I read.

She looked at me quickly, smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, I wrote I love you,” she said. “And later I will find more letters and more words that you should read.”

She smiled at me so I knew I was warm inside me. “And look here, now you take this sheet, and then you write some words on it. The words that you first come up with.”

She held the sheet and pen up in front of me, waiting for me to receive it. “Well? Take it!” “Okay then.” “What is written there? What do you feel?”

I looked at her. Questions Render. “Yes, feel it! There are three words there. What do you feel when you see it?”

She nodded encouragingly. “What it says — read it, and write what you feel — write to me.”

I looked at her. I looked at her and felt a little apprehensive. It was so unfamiliar, this conversation. But now she laughed at me. She laughed the good way. She laughed with me, not of me. “You’re so cute, she said,” even when you say you can’t write. But I’m pretty sure you can write. I have no doubt that you can write. “

Afterwards, when we had put on our clothes again and I was about to leave, she came and laid her arm around my neck and pulled me close. “Come here,” she said, “oh, you’re so good.”

As I put on my clothes, she looked at me and said, “Do you remember what I said to you: Everyone can write. Think about it, try to write about us, try to write about what you have experienced with me. Try to write, just a little.” I looked at her. I shook my head. “No, I don’t know.” “No. Don’t say no. You don’t have to show it to me. You just write for yourself, in the first place you write for yourself.”

I said, “No, I can’t. I am not a writer.” “Yes you can! I am sure you can.”

This is one of the things I like so much about her. She has very distinct opinions. And she is good at conveying her opinions. She gets me engaged. It is magical in a way. We talk together, we talk about what will become real later. That’s how it was this evening and after I came home and was alone I thought: “Yes, of course! Yes, now I must start!”

I repeated it to myself: “Now I’ll write something. Now I’ll write about when we met. I’ll write about the days we had, about what we had together, about my longing — I’ll write about how it happened that we two came together.”

NOTE from the author: This story is an excerpt from a novel — work title: The Ugliest Town — planned for publishing in 2020.

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