Love letters: Erik

by Bonnie Pockley

Stockholm University, Sweden 2005

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if things had worked out differently. I didn’t know much about you except your name. For all of fate and time and place. I didn’t know much about you except your name and that from that first time, that first day, I think we both knew. Yes. We did. We both knew. You stared at me and I stared at you and we left the bus and I had to admit that I didn’t speak Swedish. And you had to say that you were leaving but only for a few days to go snowboarding in Olso but that you’d be back. Okay? I said, yes, okay. Goodbye but I’ll see you soon.

Except,

your letter on my dorm wall got blown away by the snow storm. My housemate saw it but I never got it. You didn’t know if I’d simply ignored it.

Except,

every time I saw you, I was walking and you were on the bus and all we could do was wave through glass.

Until,

the day before I left when I finally (literally) collided with you and I had to tell you that this was it. Yes, this was it.

Did I get your letter?

No!

Had I seen you wave?

Yes.

And you took my hand and we walked together for a bit. You picked me flowers from the forest.

And that was it. Just that one day.

That was it.

But we knew.

We both knew.

And yes, sometimes I think of those snow covered trees and of you.

En annan tid, en annan plats…

Trees_Blowing_Snow_500Photo by John Sexton via here

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