Holymacaroni.

 
There is this thing called Valentine's day. Which does not mean anything to my madhatters or jokers. 
To me it means whatever you transform it to. Today I got a rose, it does smell like heaven. I love roses, but it has been a while since I gave someone roses. Ten roses, on Valentine's day a couple of years ago. To my thundergod. 
Oh, how lovely life was and is and will be. Another year we played in the snow and I drank tea on the little terrace in the little chocolate factory town. Today I got a scrap-cookbook, and oh my applepie, how happy the small things can make you. And a dinner. And a film. A tear. All with my dear friend. Because my jokers and madhatters do not celebrate Valentine's day. What a pity. And what a beautiful day I had. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm searching for the wrong kind of person. That emotions is another redundant function in my head. Jokers, madhatters, queen of hearts or numbers. What does it matter. We are all common people, are we not? Stuck in the same dimension, on the same räkmacka. I am going to throw out some love to the people who touch my heart. Not like the mysterious wanderers (or at least not exclusively), but to the people who mean the world to me. To those little moments, when people get stuck on your curtain and you cannot wipe them away entirely. 

"It feels like you accidentally flew through my window and got stuck on my curtain.
Just a little bit stuck, like you were holding on to a piece of spider web. 
Look at me. With the charming eyes of yours and you might be allowed to stay. 
On my curtain."

Yeah, that is what feelings are. Picking the mysterious (in a bad way), but so interesting people. 
I have people to say sorry to because they are amazing, and I have to say thank you to my little thundergod. Because he showed me everything about trust. And I have to tell my jokers that they are the ones I will see between the letters when it all comes around. (But I won't. Because I've already dreamt about it.) 
Blow out all the candles. 

 

Vi ramlar aldrig ner för trappor.


 
This. Is. My. Favourite. Person. In. The. Entire. World. 
Whether we are trying to finish an insane amount of fish and chips, 
or running down some blurry stairs or investigating a very peculiar picture,
-> Every second, with this particular person means the world to me. 
Livet är så vackert när du är. Här. Eller där jag är.

Another beautiful place to get lost.


We are vading in the snow with jammed hands and aching feet.
Reaching a little bit higher and visiting the grave of Little John.
Sneaking into another sleeping bag, stealing some warmth. 
Catching our breath at a fireplace.
Oh well, how good is life?