Written in Swedish (I tried to actually do that and then translate it for authenticity~ but found I can't write in Swedish anymore, it's very sad), sealed in an envelope and stuffed in a box at the back of Moa's closet.
i’m reading bröderna lejonhjärta, pretending that you’re in nangijala. before the dead doves, before törnrosdalen, before tengil and the dragon and skorpan having to be the brave one, the one who makes sure that his brother doesn’t have to die alone. taking them both to heaven. together. except it’s not heaven because i don’t believe in god and i don’t think astrid did either.
it was the only book i brought with me when i came here. it was almost as if i knew.
maybe when it’s my turn you’ll be there still. except for you it will have been a moment and for me it will have been years. decades. so many days of nothings and even more of somethings and i don’t know how i’ll do it but i know i will. i have to.
i’m thinking about my birthday and how i’ll be twenty-two and then i have exactly seven months and then i’ll be older than you. seven months. it feels like i can’t do seven months and if i do i’ll be older than you and what kind of reward is that anyway? the kind that breaks your heart, that’s what.
but skorpan did it. he did it after jonatan died and he was sick the whole time and couldn’t do anything but lie there and think. and if he could do it, so can i.
i feel sometimes like i don’t have the right to be this broken. you weren’t my brother by blood. if we weren’t vols, we never would have met. we didn’t even know each other that long. a couple of years is nothing. not like anders, with you. not like valery, with aleksei. not like skorpan, with jonatan.
i just arbitrarily decided that you were my brother, i clung to you when we were shipped off here because i didn’t know what else to do. i was so scared. i had to hold on to something and you were there so i held on to you. you never seemed to mind.
you were always too nice for your own good.
i never know if i told you but when i say i miss you i mean i love you because i am a northerner and we don’t say that stuff out loud. and i really, really miss you right now. i miss you as if you were my brother. i would say i always have but the first time i saw you i didn’t because you were this fancy model and i was just me. but now i do. now i miss you and there’s so much missing and nowhere to put it. i wonder if you feel the same way. where you are. or if i’m just trying to paint a pretty picture and put you inside my favourite book so i can have you on my bookshelf and not have to think about the truth. i think maybe i am and i don’t know if it’s all that healthy but i don’t care. i’m going to do it anyway.