Simply Red, Prague 24 May 2009

Took her to see the show. Not that she mentioned she was a fan. Not that I was one either. Maybe I just thought it would be a better idea than exercising in my bed. Whatever.

To a degree, we enjoyed catering — including sushi for her and unlimited access to chocolate for me — more than the concert itself. Plus wine, wine and more wine. When the lights went down, we could not stop poking fun at poor Mick.

Afterwards, we walked down the nightly city. And for a moment, I forgot wondering if there was any meaning to it at all. I'll keep holding on.

Moonlight sonata

Side by side on a bed. Laughing and teasing. Talking more than we did in ages. It is intimate, at least it is for me. Now, I can feel it — suddenly. I avoid touches, avoid glances. I'm here and I'm not. She likes it that way, I can tell. Yet I can't tell if that's all she wants. If I knew, if I only knew!

What? What would I do? Would I passionately make love to her tonight only to ignore her in the nights to come? Would I promise — myself, of course — that it'll all be different — only to find out it wouldn't? 'Cos it so bloody difficult to change. To change me.

Hence Beethoven instead. Again.

Outward bound

Went out to clear my mind. A club, drum and bass, two beers and two pills. Didn't feel like dancing. Felt like eating a hamburger. Did. Caught a cab and went home. Stared at ceiling until six.

Slept until midday. Teased by the sun, made a phone call. Had a date. Pashing in the meadows behind the city, dining together. Drove her off, went home, slept again.

Read the news. Listened to Bjørnstad. Did not feel melodramatic.