Harkel harkel. Det händer så fruktansvärt mycket intressant i mitt liv just nu så i brist på annat stoff lägger jag upp min engelska novell som lämnades in i morse. Den är dock inte rättad än, så det är mycket möjligt att det existerar lite fel. Men men... det här var det bästa jag kunde komma med idag. Läs och gråt, läs och skratta, läs och snarka, vad vet jag.

It only takes about thirty seconds from the moment I open my eyes until the pain returns but during those thirty seconds I am totally incapable of telling where I am or who I am.

I'm freezing, even though I'm wrapped in several blankets. I can't remember putting those on last night.

The sun is shining outside my window and the sunbeams are making horizontal patterns on the wooden floor as they float in through the blinds.

The first short moments of relief have suddenly gone, I'm fully aware of everything.

My first, innocent thought is strangely enough that it seems to be a nice day, then I realize, ashamed, that I don't understand how the sun could possibly shine on a day like this.

There is before and there is after. Yesterday it was still before. Today is after. Between those two, there is only an abyss: a big, black hole. It was inevitable and I'm alone now.

I try to listen, listen to some familiar sounds or just anything that can tell me I'm not completely abandoned, but everything's mute. Even my head seems mute, numb, and not aware of this new situation.

I'm forcing myself to step out of bed and then the pain really strikes. My knees are week, my head and my throat hurt and I'm thinking that there's no way I can go through this.

I open the doors to the wardrobe, and then I forget why I did it. I stand there, probably looking both surprised and apathetic. It takes a big amount of energy to reach out and grab my old robe.

We used to laugh about this robe. We used to laugh about how ridiculously short it was. Once, you put it on and did a silly dance to that horrible song of which the title I can no longer recall. I laughed until my lungs ached and my voice faded.

I put the robe on over my pyjama. Then I take it off. Then I put it on again.

The bathroom looks the same as every other morning but the person I am observing in the mirror is a stranger to me. My hair is a mess. My eyes are red and swollen. Did I cry last night? I don't know.

If I wasn't in a state where it's impossible to feel anything, anything at all except the dolorous emptiness, I would probably laugh because I do look like a monster.

Today's newspaper is lying on the red carpet just outside the bathroom door. There should be something in there, something about the world ceasing to exist. Something about how the earth stopped moving yesterday. Despite my feeble search, I just can't find it.

Maybe I've imagined all this. Maybe nothing has happened. Maybe I had a nightmare and we're both still fine.

I throw a glance out the window. The sun is still shining but the sky is grey and foggy now.

The scent is still everywhere. It's a very special, dusty scent: calm and peaceful but also a bit somnolent. It makes everything so quiet. This scent gives me the impression that everything here has to be in order, as it has always been, when in reality nothing is even close to being in order.

I used to be so nervous about this scent every single time I visited you. I loved that it created an illusion of safety for me but at the same time it was frightening. I didn't want to get caught because of you and then never be released again.

The sudden feeling of suffocation mixed with unexpected sadness make my sight dizzy with tears. I'm heading for the balcony door to get some fresh air and clear my head when my stomach starts twitching and with an indifference I have never experienced before I don't even make an attempt to hurry to the bathroom, instead I throw up at the spot and then I fall, shaking and weeping uncontrollably, to the ground. Outside, the sun had disappeared and tiny, silvery raindrops hit the ground, softly and almost respectful. I close my eyes.

And suddenly my memory is sharp again. The pictures cut like razorblades through my mind.

You held my hand and looked at me, your eyes filled with regret and sorrow.

"I don't want to" you whispered "I'm sorry".

I looked at you, not wanting to admit that the only thing I longed for at the moment was to escape.

You were so pale and you looked exhausted, just as I did. I tried to think about if I had ever seen you like this before, but my mind went blank when my eyes met yours. All your joy and cheerfulness had faded.

You used to be so full of energy. From the very start I could tell that your complete lack of both melancholy and gloominess were the qualities I would always appreciate the most.

When there was suddenly a limited amount of time left for me to spend with you before this radical change, I had no clue what to do with the time. So I sat there, without saying much in fear of revealing my emotions to you, becoming more and more convinced that I must have done something tremendously wrong to deserve this.

You stayed with me those hours, for some reason I don't know and probably never will know either but I was grateful.

At some point I found the silence unbearable, and tried to start a conversation. I said that we would never see each other again and you did not contradict me, something that only made my heart ache even more. There wasn't even the smallest, tiniest little bit of a chance for me. I asked if you would miss me and you didn't answer that. I said that I would miss you and that I loved you and that I didn't want you to leave. You asked me to be quiet; you said that you were in great agony too, but that it was too late. It was obvious that you did not want to get emotional these last hours.

Other people passed by, barely looking at us. How could they not notice? My whole world, everything I knew, every habit, every feeling I was familiar with were cracking, about to disband into a million shattered pieces without an ounce of dignity left. They just kept walking by us!

The hardest thing of all was when I had to leave; this incident has become etched into my memory like a scar and I don't think it will ever be erased.

For the last time I looked at you, trying to depict you clearly in my head. You glanced back, but I couldn't tell if you were as sad as I was. At some level, you had probably already moved on and I did not exist in this new world of yours. You made a sign to tell me to approach and then kissed my forehead. This last act, presumably meant to be a sign of solace and last-minute tenderness, triggered a reaction filled with so much grief I wouldn't have wished for any other human being to experience it. I clung to you desperately, for the very last time I could feel you, hear you breathing, have you close to me. In a few minutes time you would go away. I wished that there was more time for us to talk because as long as I could hold on to this moment, we would still be together and together meant not totally and irreversibly alone.

But you pushed me away, pretty brusque and precious seconds and minutes passed by. Eventually, you asked me to leave. It wasn't a very painful goodbye for you since you had had the time to prepare.

I took a few insecure steps, assuring myself that my legs could hold me up straight. Then I looked over my shoulder and shot a desperate last glance at you, but you had already turned your head.