And So Cold

Stockholm refuses to go down without a fight. The sun shines a little brighter in the early autumn winds, the water sparkles. We go for swims after work, the channel runs cool perhaps, but clear, untroubled. Yellow leaves lie in cobblestone gutters, like sprinkled jewels before the end. We cannot believe it is fall. She treats me to dinner and the Tuesday night lies silent, empty in the streets. No one would know everything is about to change.

I fell asleep on the lawn in front of the church today. This church that has seen me through my late nights, my misty eyes, my stumbling question marks as the streets wound in confusing twists through my innards, and now I slept like a baby at its feet. This city is safe, now, it fits neatly in my pocket and I can carry it with me, if I need to. The remaining days are few, but they are filled to the brim with sweet smiles and all the warmth that will fit in a suitcase. The drug of departure seeps through my veins, replenishes my parched skin.

It's impossible to deduce the winner of the duel, yet.