Your words hit me so hard it felt as though you prodded me with a searing prong, as though you knew me better than I could ever know myself. I felt at your mercy. But back then I felt at everyone’s mercy. And now, here we are; the tables have turned, and it is you who are at my mercy, and it is me using all of myself and everything you’ve taught me, to help you. You see, Kristina, nothing is as it seems. Sometimes our worlds, which look beautiful, are actually on fire.

*

After the session I deliberated over whether to just go home. I had plans that evening, with an old friend from Karlstad who was in town. I felt torn – a part of me wanted to go home and relax for a few hours before getting ready for dinner. We were going to Sawan, the kind of fancy place I imagined you’d go to eat, and I wanted to try out a new look inspired by you. High ponytail, gold stud earrings, a whimsical flick of liquid liner. Another part of me wanted to indulge in my guilty pleasure of trailing you up Bogstadveien to Rosenborggata and observing you agonize over whatever it was that awaited you there. I decided on the latter. I felt unsettled and blue after our session and it helped a little to process while drinking a coffee as I waited for you to finish for the day. You appeared in the doorway, your face guarded and drawn. You looked a little sad, perhaps affected by the fact that you’d spent your day going deep into dark places with people like me. You walked slower than usual, stopping several times to look at your phone. You frowned, typed a response, checked your phone again, typed some more. You crossed the street absentmindedly and a car had to brake hard to avoid you. Its driver shouted at you but you didn’t respond with aggression, or at all, really; you just stood there in the middle of the road, blinking. You raised a hand in apology, or surrender, and stumbled back onto the crowded pavement.

I wanted to swoop in and pull you into a hug. I wanted to take you home with me and make you tea and sit across from you, me listening to you, for once. I wanted to know what was on your mind. In hindsight, I wondered whether it could have been me. I would have liked to know whether I ever really affected you, Kristina. Whether you brought occasional thoughts of me home with you, into your real life.