Fridaynightcandysugarhoney

The train is arriving to the platforms of our city. I don't remember if it is Saturday night, if it is spring. Let's say it's Friday, let's say it's summer. The wine we had in Stockholm has made me softer, warmer, more contingent. The air is humid, but not overwhelmingly. Your familiar silhouette contrasts against the ugliness of the construction site. In that moment, everything turns beautiful, divine, extraordinary. I'm sure it is the wine, I'm convinced that it is the love.

There is no one else than us, we stumble out of the train, head for your place. The light of the lampposts makes the contours of the deserted market square dimmed, less frightening. ”I want candy, I need it.” You laugh, I love you. We laugh, while we clumsily run in order to make it to the store before it closes.

I choose my candy, the intoxication has removed my restrictions. The heartshaped marshmallows, the swedish berries, the flammable lips and the sour cherries. Too many, of course. You take the sweet chocolate, the square fudge, the yoghurt coated almonds, the arrack cones. Last call, pick your favourites.

We head out to the night again, the store security guy closes up the store behind us. A marathon of downloaded cheesy TV shows to accompany the candy? Yes, dear. Yes! dear. You know what makes me happy. The only thing I need for that is your company. And a bag of my favourite candy.