Lost Memories and Sunrises
The ancient kettle sits on top of the coal stove, steaming away merrily as Viggo wanders around the kitchen, taking out two cups and their accompanying saucers, along with a tin of tea leaves. The whistle of the kettle gradually gets louder as the water finally reaches boiling point, and Viggo quickly spoons tea into the cups before taking the kettle off and pouring in the water. Sean would not be back for quite a while more, having gone to mail a letter to his beloved Grandmere, but Viggo knows that Sean likes his tea strong and well-brewed, and it would be ready just in time before he gets back.
An idea strikes Viggo as he emerges from the kitchen, and he heads straight for the bedroom, tugging out one of his bags and rummaging through it. He knows he has a packet of dried Danish herbs somewhere, and he wonders if Sean would like some with his tea. Whilst digging through his bag, he nudges against a well-worn, dog-eared journal, and he takes it out in wonder, realising that he had forgotten all about his old diary, his faithful companion throughout his travels, other than Thierry.
With the journal in his hands, he goes to sit on the bed, flipping it open and turning over the pages, scrawled all over in fountain pen ink with his slanted, zigzag writing. He smiles wistfully as he reads some of the older entries, written in several different countries over several months, even years. A strange sort of melancholy overwhelms him when he flips back to his first entry, filled with the words of an angry, impetuous youth trying to get over the hurt of losing his first love, heading straight out of Denmark for the Netherlands without a care in the world. He flips through the rest of the entries, smiling broadly and occasionally laughing out loud at some of the fond memories.
Finally, Viggo comes to the very last entry, one written in Switzerland just before he moved on to France and somehow forgot all about this journal once he reached Paris. He reads it with interest, eager to try and recapture that magical Swiss morning:
~
It is ridiculous to say that it is too high up here in the Alps, but that is what it feels like. My nose has bled a few times from the high altitude, but I shall take it all in my stride. It is fortunate that I have a nice chalet to stay in, a repayment for the portrait I did for a friend and his wife. The chalet is large and opulent, but I have contented myself with a nice room and a large roaring fire while Thierry has made himself at home in the kitchen.
Of all the experiences I've had so far in Switzerland - nay, Europe - I realise that this morning must count amongst one of the more memorable ones. I remember getting up at dawn, instantly attracted to the rising light in the east, and I rose, slipping out onto the balcony, freezing in my coat but caught by the mesmerizing sight of the sun beginning to rise.
I stood there, my feet bare and freezing, wrapped in my flimsy coat, watching the still silence move over the Alps in waves, coordinating in some sort of graceful dance with the gradual sunlight. And I was stunned, simply overwhelmed with the beauty of it all, feeling like I was taking a private peek into Paradise. After it was over, I went back in, sinking into my bed as Thierry came up to cuddle beside me, nuzzling his cold nose against my elbow.
And for the first time in a long time, I thought of Papa back home, and my brothers, and Søren.
~
Viggo's hand shakes as he raised it to flip the page, but the rest of the book was empty. He lets it drop onto the bed with a sigh, then reaches over for the fountain pen sitting on top of Sean's table nearby. Picking up the book again, he carefully balances it on his lap as he stencils in a new date for a new entry. Hesitating briefly, Viggo taps the pen before letting the ink flow, along with his thoughts.
~
Paris. It is strange that I have been as far as Turkey and Ireland, but I had yet to come to Paris, until now. And it is nothing and everything I expected. Of course, it is a traveler's dream, provided you have your wits about you not to come across great misfortune. It is a city of vibrant life, and the inspiration to create art is just waiting to burst out at you from every corner, in every shape and form. Everybody here is inspired to paint and draw and sculpt, and it should be a kind of heaven for me.
In a way it is, but I didn't realise just how perfect this city was for me, until I met Sean. And everyday I fall in love more with this city, and more in love with him. He unlocks colours and shapes and dreams in me, pushing me to limits I never knew I could break, and each day I am more eager to be with him, sometimes feeling like we are living in our own little bubble and the rest of the world doesn't exist.
But upon finding this journal, I realised that the rest of the world -does-. I have seen it with my own eyes, and embraced it, and wanted to travel all over it until the day I die. I remember the people I have met, the cultures I've seen, and some tiny part of me aches for that, aches for the freedom and unpredictability of it all, waking up with a different sunrise in a different country every week. But at the same time, I feel like I have found home with Sean, when I look into the greenness of his eyes, I see the rolling pastures of Denmark, and when I touch his skin, I feel the good, solid earth of the farm where I spent my childhood.
Maybe I want to be greedy and have the best of both worlds. Maybe I want to take Sean across the world with me, watching sunsets together, making love under the moon which too will follow us wherever we go. But I know he is happy in Paris and I would never ask him to do such a thing, not unless he wanted me to.
~
Viggo puts the fountain pen down, looking rather thoughtful. After letting the ink dry, he closes his journal and walks over to the window, watching the street life below - vendors selling their wares, bakers loading baskets with their freshly-baked baguettes, policemen ambling down the street, nodding at various citizens.
Amongst the milling crowd on the streets, he spots Sean making his way back from the postmaster's, and the broadest smile lights up his face.
An idea strikes Viggo as he emerges from the kitchen, and he heads straight for the bedroom, tugging out one of his bags and rummaging through it. He knows he has a packet of dried Danish herbs somewhere, and he wonders if Sean would like some with his tea. Whilst digging through his bag, he nudges against a well-worn, dog-eared journal, and he takes it out in wonder, realising that he had forgotten all about his old diary, his faithful companion throughout his travels, other than Thierry.
With the journal in his hands, he goes to sit on the bed, flipping it open and turning over the pages, scrawled all over in fountain pen ink with his slanted, zigzag writing. He smiles wistfully as he reads some of the older entries, written in several different countries over several months, even years. A strange sort of melancholy overwhelms him when he flips back to his first entry, filled with the words of an angry, impetuous youth trying to get over the hurt of losing his first love, heading straight out of Denmark for the Netherlands without a care in the world. He flips through the rest of the entries, smiling broadly and occasionally laughing out loud at some of the fond memories.
Finally, Viggo comes to the very last entry, one written in Switzerland just before he moved on to France and somehow forgot all about this journal once he reached Paris. He reads it with interest, eager to try and recapture that magical Swiss morning:
~
It is ridiculous to say that it is too high up here in the Alps, but that is what it feels like. My nose has bled a few times from the high altitude, but I shall take it all in my stride. It is fortunate that I have a nice chalet to stay in, a repayment for the portrait I did for a friend and his wife. The chalet is large and opulent, but I have contented myself with a nice room and a large roaring fire while Thierry has made himself at home in the kitchen.
Of all the experiences I've had so far in Switzerland - nay, Europe - I realise that this morning must count amongst one of the more memorable ones. I remember getting up at dawn, instantly attracted to the rising light in the east, and I rose, slipping out onto the balcony, freezing in my coat but caught by the mesmerizing sight of the sun beginning to rise.
I stood there, my feet bare and freezing, wrapped in my flimsy coat, watching the still silence move over the Alps in waves, coordinating in some sort of graceful dance with the gradual sunlight. And I was stunned, simply overwhelmed with the beauty of it all, feeling like I was taking a private peek into Paradise. After it was over, I went back in, sinking into my bed as Thierry came up to cuddle beside me, nuzzling his cold nose against my elbow.
And for the first time in a long time, I thought of Papa back home, and my brothers, and Søren.
~
Viggo's hand shakes as he raised it to flip the page, but the rest of the book was empty. He lets it drop onto the bed with a sigh, then reaches over for the fountain pen sitting on top of Sean's table nearby. Picking up the book again, he carefully balances it on his lap as he stencils in a new date for a new entry. Hesitating briefly, Viggo taps the pen before letting the ink flow, along with his thoughts.
~
Paris. It is strange that I have been as far as Turkey and Ireland, but I had yet to come to Paris, until now. And it is nothing and everything I expected. Of course, it is a traveler's dream, provided you have your wits about you not to come across great misfortune. It is a city of vibrant life, and the inspiration to create art is just waiting to burst out at you from every corner, in every shape and form. Everybody here is inspired to paint and draw and sculpt, and it should be a kind of heaven for me.
In a way it is, but I didn't realise just how perfect this city was for me, until I met Sean. And everyday I fall in love more with this city, and more in love with him. He unlocks colours and shapes and dreams in me, pushing me to limits I never knew I could break, and each day I am more eager to be with him, sometimes feeling like we are living in our own little bubble and the rest of the world doesn't exist.
But upon finding this journal, I realised that the rest of the world -does-. I have seen it with my own eyes, and embraced it, and wanted to travel all over it until the day I die. I remember the people I have met, the cultures I've seen, and some tiny part of me aches for that, aches for the freedom and unpredictability of it all, waking up with a different sunrise in a different country every week. But at the same time, I feel like I have found home with Sean, when I look into the greenness of his eyes, I see the rolling pastures of Denmark, and when I touch his skin, I feel the good, solid earth of the farm where I spent my childhood.
Maybe I want to be greedy and have the best of both worlds. Maybe I want to take Sean across the world with me, watching sunsets together, making love under the moon which too will follow us wherever we go. But I know he is happy in Paris and I would never ask him to do such a thing, not unless he wanted me to.
~
Viggo puts the fountain pen down, looking rather thoughtful. After letting the ink dry, he closes his journal and walks over to the window, watching the street life below - vendors selling their wares, bakers loading baskets with their freshly-baked baguettes, policemen ambling down the street, nodding at various citizens.
Amongst the milling crowd on the streets, he spots Sean making his way back from the postmaster's, and the broadest smile lights up his face.