Centuries ago, lifetimes to come.

I've been in a period where I dived deep into my writing and research. While I'm working, it's as if I'm drifting into other dimensions, to other eras, to time periods where I explore details and characters, where I get to know people who no longer exist and I make a proper and an honest effort to understand or at least try to sort out their choices and actions. It completely overwhelms me at times. It's such a stinging absurd feeling though, knowing the impossible, knowing I'll never come to converse or discuss with certain specific people, like I don't want to interrogate or unravel history, I simply just want to have a conversation..... 

When you´ve read four books, journals, a lot of notes, a complete trial record and letters from and about a person, as well as looking at both the conduct of the war and then of course watching the trial and the outcome, you’re bound to have questions, right? And it´s not even about the war in the first place but about choices in life, thoughts during a particular stage or a distinctive sentence or paragraph in a letter.

So if anyone is working on a time machine, I'm more than willing to take a ride. 

I reflect and ponder a lot about life, especially when writing character portraits. Life's really full of unpredictable beauty. Like the other week my little sister crawled into my arms and hugged me. "You have to promise me one thing" she said, "You have to promise you'll never have children", "Why do you say that" I wondered as I felt her hug me tighter. "You may not admit it now, but you'll love that child more than you love me and that just can't happen". I didn't want to diminish her fear or feelings in any way and replied "You don't have to worry; I mean that child would end up maybe number five on the list. I have you, Lucy, a couple of historical figures and some books I'll love more". My sister looked at me for a few seconds and just stated briefly "Don't have a kid, ok". There's so much beauty and love in such a short conversation and it has indeed left a profound impression on me. These little things, perhaps insignificant to the world, seem to be the ones that mean the most. 

What builds an abyss of agony within me are the words, the sentences I never say out loud, but there was a time when only a tiny piece of paper listened to my heart so I'm ok to carry that burden as long as I know it serves a purpose and I believe it does. And I can persistently hold my hands over the ears of my heart, it doesn't help, nothing changes and yet nothing remains the same. It's my inevitable misfortune and my dearest relief. 

Winter is here, it feels somewhat melancholic as the summer passed so quickly and yet I've experienced so much. I'm grateful though and even if I don't keep a diary anymore, I'll remember that time with great happiness, always. 

Thanks to everyone who made my summer so memorable!  

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Bästa födelsedags-storyn går till Liza. (Fast jag är tacksam för allas!)

Jag vet att det var på skoj men min familj tyckte att den var högst adekvat.

Min mamma har den som bakgrund på sin telefon, haha. 

4 timmars äventyr utan att behöva syrgas.

Progress I´d say.