MEMORIES OF STOCKHOLM

It’s a transit hall. Thousands of heels are stomping the asphalt, waiting for something, or perhaps someone. In sunlight they’re not breathing in sync, a constant humming from empty chests, but during the nights… During the nights they all fall into the same rhythm and they whisper “You are everything I’ve ever hoped for…” and everything that happens seems to happen for a reason. In the beginning it wasn’t about him, in the beginning she was just looking for the rush of being held in strangers arms. He was glowing with some sort of simple confidence and he seemed to pulsate between the roles of an individual and a part of the collective; impossible to tell from the others. Pulsating, more rapidly, “stroboscope…” she thought and then he blinded her with a, from that time and for ever, constant full beam. Later she would say that she fell into his arms, literally, that coincidence had brought two bodies together in the half dark of the night chaos… But she had seen the light, seen it shine through his chest, the sharp beam pointed straight into her own and in that light they were alone. When she walked up to him her hands had stopped shaking and when he asked who she were she knew, knew for the first and last time “I am yours…”