För Hanna;


Halv sex en söndagsmorgon.


Midsommar.


And I will stay until I'm far away.


All my metaphors fell flat down on the rocks where we sat.

Vi tog tåget till Saltcoats, med en grill och ukulele under armen.

Han ville ha allt.


I still never told you about unstoppable sorrow.


Vyer.


Två punds skor.

och egentligen vill jag skriva om honom. men jag väntar nog lite till med det.

There's no other way.


Du vet vi väntar på ingenting, ingenting väntar på oss.


Du kommer vara minst lika blå i Tokyo som i Göteborg.


Det som var innan det innan.


Söndag.


Kassettdrömmar.


Att ramla in på frightened rabbits.


We want to leave, but we can't say goodbye.


All the boys I have ever loved have been digital.

I've been a guest, on a screen, or in a book.
I write his name in nothing, he whispers to the author, that I will be the only one.

Fyra dagar någon annanstans.


Vargar.

"I tried to make it look as though you're looking through a window, like you're looking into someone else's world in a way that works with the song's slightly off-kitler melody."

Vi åker iväg lite.


Femtiosjutusen fräknar.

och jag föll.

You are, could I?


Filmiska minnen på pränt.


Hundratusentals ögonblick varje sekund.


You've no clue, do you.


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