going to try writing it down: I’ve fallen in love with Vore. I’m in love with Vore. (I said it out loud as well, but quietly.) No.It isn’t true. I can tell when I write it down, when I say it. That’s not the way it is. It’s something different. Something…better?
I don’t understand it. It’s making me feel slightly unwell.
We bumped into one another down by the rocks I call the Dance Floor. Sort of. I mean, I’d followed him, and he was standing there…waiting?
We talked about the forest. How the autumn changes things. He said he never really felt comfortable indoors (!!!).
I told him I felt the same. And then…I showed him the Dance Floor. He said such a strange thing. When I told him I called this place the Dance Floor because you could imagine the elves dancing there, he said, ‘They used to. Once upon a time.’
And he said it perfectly seriously, without the slightest hint of a joke. (And I believe it’s true, actually. How can I think that? Elves?)
I told him about the tree, the lightning.
And I laughed, I just couldn’t help it, because it’s so ridiculous how everything…I laughed when he told me
he’d
been struck by lightning too! His beard hides the scars. He let me feel. The skin was knobbly underneath his beard on one side.
We stood there looking at one another, until I started laughing again. What else could I do? How many people have been struck by lightning? One in ten thousand? If that. There was nothing more to say, somehow.
It goes against the grain to write this, it’s not my style (I’m a rational person, I wear a uniform at work), but is there actually such a thing as twin souls? If such a thing really does exist, it would explain a great deal.
Of course that leads to a question. Does he feel the same way? I think he does. To use a childish phrase: he started it. When he kissed me on the cheek last summer. He knew back then.
Or did he?
Yes, I know. All I have to do is ask, right? Of course. Just ask him. I’d rather die. No, I wouldn’t. But it’s difficult. If he says…I don’t know. If he gives the wrong answer. Something will break inside me.
I didn’t pull up a single person at work today. Robert stopped one just out of routine. Five bottles of Kosken over the limit. As I knew perfectly well. Robert gave me a funny look.
I don’t want to do it anymore. I’ve had enough. I just want… what do I want?
SEPTEMBER 29
He’s leaving the day after tomorrow.
We met in the forest yesterday, picked lots of mushrooms. He has the same radar as me when it comes to finding mushrooms (of course). I asked about his childhood. He said he was adopted. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so I dropped the subject.
I spent all evening blanching mushrooms. Roland’s suspicious. So what. Tomorrow he’s going to Gothenburg for a dog show that lasts all weekend, doing his own thing. Getting laid.
Vore is going away. I’ll never see him again.
So my behaviour can be excused.
When I got home today, his car wasn’t there. I fetched the key and went into the cottage. I felt like a thief. I lay in his sheets for a long time, feeling pleasure and fear at the same time. Panic. Even now while I’m writing this I feel as if I want to die.
I’m not going to kill myself, of course I’m not. But I want to die. That’s the way it is. As I lay there in his bed, I knew it was the last time. (Yes, I’ve done it several times.)
I just want to be erased, to disappear.
But I expect it will pass. (It will never pass.)
Help me! What am I going to do?
As I was about to leave, I saw something strange. There was a plate and a bowl on the draining board. Very strange, don’t you think? Well no, but it was what was on the plate. At first I thought it was some kind of pudding. When I took a closer look I could see that it was larvae. Mashed up larvae.
Yes, I did have a taste. It was pretty good. A bit like snails, but a bit more grainy.
Sometimes it feels as if I’m
I don’t understand it. It’s making me feel slightly unwell.
We bumped into one another down by the rocks I call the Dance Floor. Sort of. I mean, I’d followed him, and he was standing there…waiting?
We talked about the forest. How the autumn changes things. He said he never really felt comfortable indoors (!!!).
I told him I felt the same. And then…I showed him the Dance Floor. He said such a strange thing. When I told him I called this place the Dance Floor because you could imagine the elves dancing there, he said, ‘They used to. Once upon a time.’
And he said it perfectly seriously, without the slightest hint of a joke. (And I believe it’s true, actually. How can I think that? Elves?)
I told him about the tree, the lightning.
And I laughed, I just couldn’t help it, because it’s so ridiculous how everything…I laughed when he told me
he’d
been struck by lightning too! His beard hides the scars. He let me feel. The skin was knobbly underneath his beard on one side.
We stood there looking at one another, until I started laughing again. What else could I do? How many people have been struck by lightning? One in ten thousand? If that. There was nothing more to say, somehow.
It goes against the grain to write this, it’s not my style (I’m a rational person, I wear a uniform at work), but is there actually such a thing as twin souls? If such a thing really does exist, it would explain a great deal.
Of course that leads to a question. Does he feel the same way? I think he does. To use a childish phrase: he started it. When he kissed me on the cheek last summer. He knew back then.
Or did he?
Yes, I know. All I have to do is ask, right? Of course. Just ask him. I’d rather die. No, I wouldn’t. But it’s difficult. If he says…I don’t know. If he gives the wrong answer. Something will break inside me.
I didn’t pull up a single person at work today. Robert stopped one just out of routine. Five bottles of Kosken over the limit. As I knew perfectly well. Robert gave me a funny look.
I don’t want to do it anymore. I’ve had enough. I just want… what do I want?
SEPTEMBER 29
He’s leaving the day after tomorrow.
We met in the forest yesterday, picked lots of mushrooms. He has the same radar as me when it comes to finding mushrooms (of course). I asked about his childhood. He said he was adopted. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so I dropped the subject.
I spent all evening blanching mushrooms. Roland’s suspicious. So what. Tomorrow he’s going to Gothenburg for a dog show that lasts all weekend, doing his own thing. Getting laid.
Vore is going away. I’ll never see him again.
So my behaviour can be excused.
When I got home today, his car wasn’t there. I fetched the key and went into the cottage. I felt like a thief. I lay in his sheets for a long time, feeling pleasure and fear at the same time. Panic. Even now while I’m writing this I feel as if I want to die.
I’m not going to kill myself, of course I’m not. But I want to die. That’s the way it is. As I lay there in his bed, I knew it was the last time. (Yes, I’ve done it several times.)
I just want to be erased, to disappear.
But I expect it will pass. (It will never pass.)
Help me! What am I going to do?
As I was about to leave, I saw something strange. There was a plate and a bowl on the draining board. Very strange, don’t you think? Well no, but it was what was on the plate. At first I thought it was some kind of pudding. When I took a closer look I could see that it was larvae. Mashed up larvae.
Yes, I did have a taste. It was pretty good. A bit like snails, but a bit more grainy.
Sometimes it feels as if I’m
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