I grew angel wings today. like the ones people tattoo on their backs. Some also with ink. And I flew. I was on Stokcholmsgade. Nobody saw me. But I did. She said I can always learn to fly. And I never did until I did it. I was looking at everything from above and I felt it in my stomach. That’s where I physically feel happiness. And sorrow. The same place, the same sensation. Isn’t it ironic? No, not really. It is like that by design.

By the time I got to Lundsgade, I was invincible. But only after I stopped fighting. All the way from the station I was trying so hard to keep myself covered, protected. The wind was blowing so cold… And he stubbornly managed to get underneath my hood no matter what I did. So fuck it! I’m gonna remove my hood and feel the cold. But feel it. Acknowledge it. Because you know, what you resist persists. Once I started feeling it, it went away. It was not the cold. It was never the cold. The same way it was never Denmark.

It’s your mind.

 

 

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