Stockholm, sometime in December 2007
When I think of you I see you sitting up on the roof in Beijing. Vikash and you just had a sweet and sour something and Coke. The sun is shining and you are smiling. You look really handsome. Your hair is a bit floppy and has a touch of gold in the sunlight. When you pull your hand through it you can see your scar on the right side of your forehead.
I think you are wearing glasses.
I'm not sure.
The air feels like spring and the sky is blue for the first time in several days. The heavy pollution has been discouraging the autumn leaves to glow. Now they get their chance. The hutong is somewhere below our feet, bustling.
This is the image I recall when I want to fall in love with you. I am not certain that is a good idea. By now I should know better then to let my imagination run freely. I will only end up being disappointed. Or disappointing you, darling.
I am writing this because it sounds beautiful and I am sending it to you because I know (I think) it will make you happy.
"My capacity of romanticizing easily dwarfs that of an average acid-head", to quote Woody Allen. And I am just bored, sitting at the library and it is getting dark outside. It is very cold in Stockholm today. I really wonder when I will meet someone who will knock me off my feet.
I think he lives in New York.
I was dancing with this guy called Ira once and he said he loved me three times and that he would love to have sex with me. I am not sure if it was the drugs talking or if he is the man I will marry. He vanished, but I saw him on the street a few days later and our eyes met and my heart stopped.
That is the love I am after.
Dear friend, this is typical me-behaviour, so I hope you can put up with it and accept my need for being a little lovefool. I am not in love with you! And you are not in love with me.
Poor you. I am a nutcase.
P.S. THIS LETTER DOES NOT MEAN THAT I DON'T WANT TO SLEEP WITH YOU.