I washed my hands and walked back out in the sunlight, back to the table in front of the smokehouse, where she sat… looking at me with my diary open in her hands… “That is some stories there, Frits” . She said
Hasle Smoke house Bornholm
Watercolor and text by Frits Ahlefeldt
What?… I tried to remember what did I write in my diary?… What did I not write?… It dawned on me I had written all my thoughts, my doubts, my worries and…
She smiled and said “you are such an ordinary guy!”, and handed me my diary.
My head didn’t know what to do, my hands grabbed the book.
She stopped sneaking into my pack to read it after that… I guess it bored her.
A year or so after she would become a mother, and I a father, to the same little girl. Three years later we would split up.
I look at the tables and put my backpack back on, walk past the smokehouse, our daughter is fifteen year old now.
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