Everytime I return from Sweden and have met my friends there, I am kind of okay for eight weeks. Latest then the longing creeps into my soul. It builds up with every week, every day that passes. The occasions I want to take part in pile up, the babies being born and the new boyfriends, the new jobs, the new apartments. The point where I start fantasizing about going to Värmlands with Eliza (it’ a silly promise we gave each other on a dance floor in Gotland to always go to Värmlands club in Uppsala if we happen to be in Sweden on a Friday at the same time), where I dream about getting a fika with Nicola, start making lists of topics to be discussed with the Golden Hearts, long to hug Bianca and want to see one of Malin’s grandma’s dresses in real life.

Even though I did not explain this in such detail to my boss, I still took some days off and in early November, my plane will touch down at Arlanda. Just like the times before, this prospect will brighten up my days until then, the thought of being a few minutes’ journey from so many friends will exhilarate me, the countdown will fill the remaining time with joy that others need a long-distance amazing holiday for. I obviously don’t because amazing and Swedish November usually do not go together. I’m not coming for the weather, I am not even coming that much for the city this time maybe,  I am coming for you. (Whether or not you have been explicitly mentioned.)

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