MayDay

The train leaves in ten. Are you sure you want to walk? The question repeated itself in my periphery. I had no doubts. In the street, a stumbling man needed help with a taxi; once sent on his way, the city was empty, quiet. I trundled along the water, dark deep water turning slowly into still blue seas. I wanted desperately to dive in. Do you remember last time I saw May arrive on these shores, I did, how cold it was, how much I wanted to soak in the last of the country before adventure caught me?

By the time I reached my south island, my new home, my small corner at the end of the stairs and the stone church looming with its sunrise rays around the corner, how awake my senses, how glad my steps. Cherry blossoms, birds a-singing, the sun rising in the distance, how close it was. The apartment smiled as I entered; such new aquaintances and already such good friends.

My father lies dying, he whispered, and no one cares. But the truth is not always what we perceive, the party not always what we expected. For a short, silent moment, Stockholm was mine. My heart bleeds infinitely; morning trickles in through the blinds. May is here. We will all be saved, in the end.