Can you see them in the window?
Although my life may look like a scene from an Ingmar Bergman film, I can assure you that it's nothing of that kind.
I'm back in Bergen to wrap up my last lectures and start filling brown boxes with all my things, trying to convince myself to through some of it away, but knowing that it's not going to happen. I'm attaching to things like everyone else. The same counts for places. I know that in time I will miss my big room with the window that can't be opened. I will miss the walks to school in the rain. I will miss passing the house with the five Husky puppies observing me from a window like the sisters from the Virgin Suicides.
Do you know the feeling of wishing you could have appreciated things more when they lasted?
