We spent two summers with the guys we met at a music festival earlier that summer. She had this wild romantic thing with the dude and spent most of the days in his apartment or shower or carpet. I on the other hand was living with this guy who was working by day and doing top secret grafitti things by night. And the roomate. The roomate whose room I'd sneak into and fins him bulding stuff using parts from all sorts of other stuff. Whose bed sheats were pale from all the washing and who was never there. Until he was. There was a party, smoky room, smell of summer and sweat and pot. Boxes of wine and beercans, the cheapest sort. Loud music was playing electro and hip hop and friends were laughing and dancing. When he walked in to the room, and in to my life, holding his bike. Yes he brought his bike in to his bedroom. I was instantly attracted to him. Maybe it was the bike, or the imagination of him I had from beeing in his room, or the fact that he was incredably good looking. The next morning I sat on the balcony overlooking Stigbergstorget in Gothenburg. All that was left from last night was nastyness. He came out ready to go to the shower, I was suprised, he was a man of few words. Do you wanna come with me in to the city, I need to get my friend a birthdaypresent he asked. This is where it started. Long walks in the city talking about stuff. Days in his room tying to build stuff. How we tried to mix our own drinks. And when we threw my iphone out the balcony down on the grass just to see if t would survive. How he put on a superhero cape and ran down without shoes just to scream "it is working, it's a miracle!" Unstopable lauging in the library trying to find his friend a bday present. Second hand shopping for books he turned in to a bday card. I looked at him and saw all his creativity. How he drove me on his bike so I woldn't miss the tram when he had to go to work. Stiff partys at his friends suburban houses followed by filled cab rides in to underground parties in the city. He was still a man of few words but all of them interesting. How we took the skateboard to a warehouse and he was impressed by my skills. How my bright pink nailpolish botherd his friends, calling me a "fashionista". How he just smiled as an answer. Being a confident person I felt so small compared to this man and the stuff going on in his head, his creativity, his way to put the lock to his bike arund his hips when not beeing used. And the last night when I was in his bed waiting and he came back early in the morning. This time I was awake and he didn't come to lay down next to me. It was sunday and he took me out of bed and down to this little coffeeplace around the corner. They served a eco-friendly-vegitarian breakfast buffet. It was so him. The chair was tilting, and the sun was annoying my eyes this morning. The words were fewer. Then he had to go to work and I had to go home.

The next summer everything was different. We came down to G to go to the music festival way out west. It was totally unplanned. No tickets, no where to sleep. We crashed the first night in our friends little sisters hotel room sharing just a tiny extra bed. I saw him jumping over the fence to get in to the concert area, and then I found myself at the same balcony overlooking Stigbergstorget. How we litsened to music, sat on the grass and drank beer. How I ran in to people I wanted to run in to only to realize I didn't want to run in to them. How I was left all alone at a strange party outside the city. How desperate I was. For something. How he gave me directions and came down to open the door. How we took his bike to 7eleven to get food in the middle of the night. How it was friendly. His fathers boat buldings. Him DJing and throwing underground parties in some woods somewhere. More music. Waking up to grafitti boy and his friends again. Meeting some Brit guys at a dark bar. Almost being young and stupid. Getting the call from my friend back home saying she needs my help. Taking the bus home the next day, giving him a hug and the last of my tram stamps. Litsening to one song all the way home.  


Such a tierd time to write, no spellcheck please.