London Live

Hello, Denmark, I say, standing on my tiny balcony; the air is fresh and moist with that unique Scandinavian freshness to it. The building complex's yard is empty. There is a sandbox, wet from the rain. I know precisely what that kind of wet sand feels like against the skin. The cold air creep trough my grandma-knitted red blanket. Most the things in my new room are old. For the last five years I have only had new things. Things I bought myself, or things people who passed briefly through my life had gave me. I shiver and suddenly it is completely quiet and still inside me. Some birds are singing and the sun seeps softly through grey clouds. I feel at home.

In that moment I don't miss him as much.