I Am Going to Write

Part 2 The Light Inside

Aslak

«Something I haven't done before.»

Chapter 4

I'm going to try something I haven't done before. I am going to write a journal, a blog where I will get down a few words about what I am experiencing nowadays.

It is not the intention that this should be so very advanced, but I will try to be open and very honest about what I write.

This blog will be about my meeting with Eira and what happened to us two these past couples of years. Eira has told me about her own blog. I actually knew that she was writing, because I had seen some of her articles and poems in the local newspaper. That happened even before I knew who she is, before I had the chance to get to know her.

We started talking about it one morning when we were in bed close to each other. The sunlight came obliquely into the bedspread and gave the color of the fabric an unusually warm intensity. I lay and felt very strongly the good sensation that often comes in the body after we have had a good time together. It was like an infinitely high sky above us, and I felt full, a little sluggish, and happy. I thought that being that way, it's too good to be true. If we get to have it like this together all the time, then it will be almost unbearable. Unbearably good to be me, and the same for her, I think.

I mentioned a poem of hers I had seen just a few months earlier.

«Isn't difficult to write like that?» I asked.

«No, it isn't,» she said, «not when you've become used to it.»

«Oh really?»

«Aslak dear, you know, writing, it's just a creative habit, another habit that you get used to, like everything else."

She looked at me and smiled. We began touching each other again. We did not talk about writing anymore that day.

---

It's really Eira I have to thank for starting writing. She challenged me, said I should start writing a journal or a blog.

«I mean,» she said, «it could be very interesting for me to read, you know, your version.»

«My version - what do you mean?»

«Yes, I mean - of what is happening between us.»

I was reluctant, mostly because I did not want to enter into any kind of competition with Eira. I wanted to continue to be what I have been to her, and I wanted her to continue to be what she was to me.

We started talking about it again a couple of days later while we lay on the bed and relaxed. We just lay there in the bed, side by side, on our backs. I was completely at ease, both in body and mind, I thought of everything and nothing.

She smiled at me, stretched her hand toward me, and I took her and kissed her.

«You know,» she said, «you should write too, you know!"

"No," I said, pulling at it. "Don't say that, I can't write."

"Yes you can, I'm sure."

"I can't do that. Writing was the worst thing I knew at school."

«Don't think about that. Don't think about school. Don't think about what you didn't achieve.»

"Writing about feelings - no, I'm not so good at writing about that - I don't think so."

"Well then. You who are so good at emotions!"

She smiled at me. She leaned over and kissed me on the mouth.

"Of course, you can write, you who are a very sensitive man, you can certainly write!"

"No, you don't know me."

"Don't I?"

"You don't know that side of me."

"I mean, you should write today. For your own part - writing is a very good way to put words into things in your life."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Everyone can!"

She laughed at me, her smile shining white at me.

"To write - you just write for your own sake."

"But does that make sense then?"

"Yes, you use it as a diary, a notebook where you write things down to remember."

"Remember? - Then what?"

"Yes, for example, you can write to understand -."

«How - understand?»

"Yes, listen, I'll tell you one thing. Do you know that when I write something down and see what it says on the paper - it's like it gets more real."

She leaned over me against the bedside table. I felt her weight over me. It felt good. She reached for a ballpoint pen and a sheet lying there.

"Look here," she said, "Look here. On this sheet, I write something. I write a few words, and then it's there, you know!"

I looked at her as she wrote. - All the time he surprises me. She is so strong, so full of life, so full of inventions and energy. Creativity, which she transmits to me.

"Look here," she said, "Look here, read this. Read it aloud to me!"

"I love you," I read.

She looked at me quickly, smiled and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Yes, I wrote I love you," she said. "And later I will find more letters and more words that you should read."

She smiled at me so I felt I was warm inside me.

"And look here, now you take this sheet, and then you write some words on it. The words that you first come up with."

She held the sheet and pen up in front of me, waiting for me to take it.

"What is written there? What do you feel?"

I looked at her.

"Yes, feel it! There are three words there. What do you feel when you see them?"

She nodded encouragingly.

"What it says - read it, and write what you feel - write to me."

I looked at her again.

I looked at her and felt a little apprehensive. It was quite unfamiliar, I felt, this conversation. But now she laughed at me. She laughed the good way. She laughed with me, not of me.

"You're so cute," she said," even when you say you can't write. But I'm pretty sure you can write. I have no doubt that you can write."

Afterwards, when we had put on our clothes again and I was about to leave, she came and laid her arm around my neck and pulled me close.

"Come here," she said, "oh, you're so good."

As I was about to leave, she looked at me.

"Remember what I said to you: Everyone can write. Think about it, try to write about us, try to write about what you experience with me. Try to write, just a little."

I looked at her. I shook my head.

"No, I don't know."

"No. Don't say no. You don't have to show it to me. You just write for yourself, in the first place you write for yourself.»

I Said: "I can't. I am not a writer."

"Yes, you can! I am sure you can."

This is one of the things I like so much about her. She is very straight forward and has very distinct opinions. And she is good at conveying her opinions. She gets me engaged. It is magical in a way. We talk together, we talk about what will become real later.

That's how it was this evening. After I came home and was alone I thought:

"Yes, of course! Yes, now I must start!"

I repeated it for myself:

"Now I will write something. Now I will write about when we met. I will write about the days we had, about what we had together, about my longing - I will write about how it was when we two came together.»

---

A note from the author:

The novel "The Love We Had" is made up of three parts, where the three main characters tell how they experienced what happened.

Part 1 The Longest Night -chapters 1–3, told by Lars

Part 2 The Light Inside -chapters 4–17, told by Aslak

Part 3 Save Our Secret Love -told by Eira