The postman

My three weeks holidays in Italy are over and I am back to Oslo.
It has been such an experience. The first time for me to be in hometown by myself, I mean, without anyone in tow. Tragedies have been wisely avoided, showing enough fear and respect by both parts and deep understanding by mutual friends.  I actually experienced a nice feeling of freedom, and rewarded by the attention and care given by long-standing friends and newly-found old-friends.

Newly-found old-friends. The postman came back, after more than 5 years. From the emotional farewell given on the steps of ULU building in London, to platform number 8 in Milano train station. I watched him looking around to find me on the platform while I was standing far. I couldn't associate this image with the name that I repeated to myself and to my close friends so many times, so I couldn't step further.
The thing is that five years ago love meant "idealization" while now, it turned to be "no expectations". Thus, while my cynic side of the brain was saying: "distrust", my romantic side was choosing the soundtrack for this film-like meeting and my aesthetic side was saying that he looked more beautiful than ever. All that while he was coming closer and closer.
So, what about if you start with no expectations, you just go there because you want to add another adventure to your exciting life, and than you discover than reality is so sadly better than dreams?

Where have you been in these five years? Circumstances.
But the truth is that we were not ready for it.

What about if you get close to someone from the other way round?
What about if you discover that you are incredibly similar and you keep saying to yourself that for this reason it wouldn't work?
We don't know each other, so we can tell everything and being clear from the first moment. Then, we are living a similar phase in our life: we have both been taken to a new place by circumstances, both fed up with distance,  both living alone for the first time, both still writing, in our solitary cozy apartments, making up funny endings for our short stories.

This weekend maybe does not take to anywhere. But we dreamt  about new travels, films to be watched and written, songs to be exchanged and larger beds to be warmed.
It it's a rose, it will blossom, my father told me on the phone.
For now, it's only the image of two pigeons cooing under the glass roof of Milano station.

Noah and the whale - Five years time