Behind The Glass With Charlotte Eriksson

So I died many times that year. In the cold, in the storm, on the run or on the drunk for my heart did not want to beat but kept on beating anyway, and my pain was as real as real can be, and I tried to learn and deal and run and feel, but nothing really worked. I built a comfortable home in my sorrow and settled into a quiet living. No sparks or grand gestures, just a simple daily hymn to comfort. The leaves fell off the trees and coloured this city in all kinds of pretty, and some days that was enough to make me smile at least a little bit, within. I can’t quite recall how, when or why, but the passage of time really does heal what seems impossible to heal. The daily task of getting by adds up to weeks and months, and you will find yourself a little more at ease one day, some days, if you just keep going. Keep doing, keep being. One day, when the spring wakes up and the air is crisp, you will catch yourself smiling, thinking “that felt good,” and you will laugh again, suddenly more often than not, and one