I could walk to Tallinn if my poor feet weren’t stuck to (?) my memory. To your memory.
You say ‘Akkurat som æ ogdu’ but then you fool me. Then you fool yourself and we all deceive ourselves together. And we get lost as if all the romances in the worldfell with us. I told you. Now you watch it from the top because, for you, waiting in unbearable [like a look to the Härma bridge. You alwaysknew about my passion for it. I couldn’t have helped it, love].
You don’t like the artificial lights, nor the cold, not even me. You alwaysblame the snow, the Baltic Sea, the distance. The problem is that I am too literal: I’m not capable of decorating my own words – but no effortwill be able to change your conception.
However, I don’t want you to understand. You put strings around all the things that should befree, including our best plans. And then you disagree when I say that I need to walk, know every trace and step left in the corners of this city.It would be as if we were on the benches of the Reacoja Plats. Me, taking a lot of pictures. You, laughing at my lack of talent.
Even forthe arts. My soul can’t even product the most tenuous literary scream, and you said that we could have gone in the past. Now I fight againstthe world’s immobility. All the weight installed on my shoulders, driving me breathless. I’ll fight, but I’ll go to Tallinn.