in many ways it's strange what home has yet again become;

home.                     it's weird because I still despise being at home. I hate living with my parents and I hate seeing my little brother grow up to become the same person that I am (terribly afraid). Lund is tiny and I seem to be connected to every 20 year old in this town; seem to run into them every time I'm outside;  a friend's friend, or an old classmate, or an orchestra buddy, or that person I had one really good conversation with at that one party that one time, or that person I used to have a secret crush on in middle school. it drives me nuts that everything seems to be standing still in this town,

that what has always been like this, still is.

(that's why I left.)

but coming back this time has been different. this time, I don't want to leave. 

;

aleksander is soft-spoken and soft-lipped and his hands are warm in the january air, freezing. we meet for the first time at sara's party in december 2015. he asks me if I want to go outside for some fresh air and we sit on the frozen pavement in the middle of the night, sharing a lucky strike under the yellow light of a lamppost. he is easy to talk to. that's the first thing that comes to my mind. I've just finished my first semester at UWC and I've hated it. it's been stressful being away from home, yet coming home hasn't been what I imagined. he is a good listener, and half-way through my stories, he cracks a quote from kung fu panda: "yesterday is history. tomorrow is mystery. but today is a gift – that's why they call it the present." I laugh through my tears and lean my head on his shoulder. 

we kiss for the first time a couple of days later. it's new years eve and lundagård is exploding with people and fireworks. his lips taste of champagne and marlboro. on the first day of 2016, I wake up by his kiss on my forehead. it feels like I've known him forever. four days later, I leave for new mexico.

/

two years later, we meet again. things didn't work out last time. doing long-distance seemed impossible and seeing each other only on breaks left everything in some hopeless limbo that we were both comfortable with while together but not while apart. it's been more than a year since we saw each other last; since I'd left grass stains on his brand new suit on his graduation day, since we'd had fika and fed the ducks in the park with our left-overs, since he'd called me just to say that he missed me after having been apart while he was on vacation in scotland. now we're at ariman — a café that at 5pm turns into a bar — drinking coffee. seeing him feels strangely familiar. two years feels like it could've been yesterday.

he asks me if I think I've changed. yes, I say. I tell him the thoughts I've had about becoming 20, and about growing up (or maybe the lack of it). I tell him about you and about doug and about michael, a new climbing friend. in the car to the climbing gym one day, I'd asked him about things that you can only really ask real adults. real adults that have their shit together: that have a job and a family and a dog and that worry about things that are realer than trying to figure out what major I want to do, or if I should go to class or not. or something like that. I want to be a real adult too. I ask michael about growing older, and growing more mature, and what that really is. what is it to be more mature? what is it to grow up? because looking at myself it feels like little has changed over the past couple of years of my being alive. reading through old journals this summer made me realize that many of the thoughts and emotions I wrote about then, I still write about now. it feels like I’m stuck somehow. stagnated, maybe. is this who I am? is this who I will always be? I think a lot about what you used to tell me: “when you grow older you'll realize that you're the exact same person as you were ten years ago. you're the person you're always going to be, right now. down the road you'll just have a little more experience”, and the thought of that continues to shift from being the scariest to the most comforting thought ever. if I am who I will be right now that means I can also alter my future self, right? because if we only learn by repetition and I’m constantly perpetuating my being, a slight change in attitudes and repeating them means I can alter and have power over who I become in the future. right? michael says: “when I think of myself I think of myself at the age of 16.” he’s 38. “I don’t know why, but somehow that’s just how I see myself. maybe it’s because even though I think about different things now, I still hold true to many of the values that I did then.” he laughs at the thought of feeling 16. I laugh too. but in reality, the thought of it stings (a little bit.) taking control of myself seems harder than I want it to be.

to all of this, aleksander replies: "maybe I don't remember everything correctly, but talking to you now feels strangely similar to how it was talking to you two years ago. like little has changed." it made me think, too, because in many ways I'm sure he was right. seeing aleksander and being reminded of his crooked teeth and the way he ruffles his hair made me feel like the relationships we have are always put on pause, no matter how much the people in it change themselves. much has happened over two years, but my relationship to him in many ways feels... the same. it's a weird thought that I can'treally wrap my mind around and fully understand, but it's kind of comforting to know. that no matter how much I change, an older version of me can always emerge through my relationships with other people. like I can inhabit all of these different me's within the one person that is... me. that nothing is ever lost, kind of. only gained.

comforting

the rest of winter is a big blur. I wake up by his side every day and during the gray winter days we go to art galleries and museums and have coffee and eat crepes. I take him climbing and he takes me to the movies and one day we get tattoos at a really hip studio in malmö. they serve really strong coffee in pink moomin cups, have pillows on the window sill, and big monstera plants in the corner. our tattoo artist is called jonas and he's designed a wind-up bird for me (from haruki murakami's novel "the wind-up bird chronicle", and a fish for aleksander (he adores fish). I get my bird on my ribcage (it hurts like a bitch) and he gets his fish on the back of his upper arm. I've been thinking of getting this tattoo for ages (almost got it in tuscon three years ago) and he's been thinking of just getting one for a couple of months. mine is a tribute to haruki murakami (my all time favorite author – have I ever talked to you about him?) and a reminder to 'wind myself up'; to not stop creating (it's hard though), and his is because he just really likes fish. haha. they're unrelated in motif yet connected by design. it feels special doing it with him. 

the night before I leave, he's huddled next to me in my bed. "you can't fall asleep" I tell him. I want the night to last forever. I really don't want to leave him.  

/

a couple of days later, I'm back in my dorm room at wellesley. somehow I feel ok. we decide to try long distance. I take the bus to cambridge and I walk across the charles three times, smiling. it's a beautiful winter day; the ice melting on the river, the sun in my face, the chilly air. I'm freezing but my heart is warm. everything is going to be ok.

two months later, I'm stressed from midterms and things come across unclearly in text messages. the time difference makes it difficult for us to talk to each other as much as we would like and once again I'm wondering if I'm spending too little time caring for myself and myself only. he comes to visit me for two weeks during spring break and I realize how much I love him, again. I bring him to my brother in new york and his new-born baby (that's right! I'm an aunt now!) and we spend eight days in the city. they pass by faster than ever. we go to museums, eat good food, go climbing. in the evenings we watch black mirror and make love. being with him makes me feel so confident in us. I want to move in with him, have a future with him. seeing him care for eddie makes me want him father my children. it sounds dumb to say when you're 20 and it sounds dumb to say when you live 3000 miles apart, but this boy makes me so incredibly happy and being with him feels so right. I never want to forget this feeling; how good it feels to be with him, how it feels like he reads my mind, how he knows everything I want, how weak he makes me feel, how strong he makes me feel, how happy I am that he's mine and that I'm his and that we're ours. 

when he leaves, things turn dark again. I'm burnt out from school work and I feel shittier than ever. when I go to the counselor she wants to put me on anti-depressants. I kindly refuse (the idea of pills makes me feel helpless and out of control) and cry into my pillow, silently. my new roommate is called tatum and even though we're rooming next year too I still don't feel too comfortable around her. wellesley has been hard in the way that I've had a hard time finding friends and that academics have been tough. I feel really dumb half of the time and sometimes I wonder if the tuition is really worth it all. plus aleksander makes everything 1000 times more difficult. I just want to be with him.

I finish a 20 page art history paper the morning I'm supposed to fly home just to realize my flight is delayed more than 12 hours. I cram out a philosophy paper in the meantime, stressed and angry because I want to be in aleksander's arms. his cat passes away during this time, 19 years old. måns. he used to stand outside aleks' door and meow really loudly whenever we closed it. I want to hug him; both of them. he meets me at copenhagen airport a couple of hours later. his eyes are puffy.

;

and how scared I am to lose him.

a promise of love, infinitely.