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Sometimes I discover that I've, so to speak, gotten up from my place in the painting of Everyday and left the picture. It happens when I, for a long, long time, have thought that I've known exactly where I was going, without a doubt. University. Gotland. Away from home, towards him, towards a lifestyle and a spectra of opinions that would follow.

And then suddenly, an epiphany, a realization, and the world is turned on its axis. Without a reasonable, or at least visible, reason, but for some reason all the same, I'm no longer sure of what I want, and I come to discover that I don't fully trust myself anymore. Am I this...inconstant? This fickle? Will I always be running in fifteen different directions, shouting, "This way! Onwards!", stumble, shake my head, shout, "Or-? Wait!" and set off in another direction entirely?

Will anything ever be enough?

"Who am I?" is a question that cannot be answered, for I no longer have the criteria to settle the matter. Have I stagnated entirely? Have I evolved at all? Why? Why not?

There is someone who've confused me in this manner for more than a year. With him...there are no paintings to leave, no normalcy to sigh into and lean back on. With him, I've been like a newborn child, too young to know if I'll soar high or fall forever if I dare to take a step outside.

And I still haven't found the words, and isn't that the worst thing? I can't speak of you! As soon as my mind touches the thought of you, it stops. I sit with my hands open in my lap, but nothing falls into them, nothing creeps up into them and nothing changes.


And still blisters and bruises try to heal themselves in my palms, as if I had something, as if I have lived - but without noticing.

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