I thought constantly of Lina. It was as if one of those planes flying high over campus had caught fire and started to spiral towards the ground. As much as I spoke to her on Skype and wrote to her on messenger, her pain felt incredibly distant. Unfortunately it didn’t make it any easier to bear. For there were times when she had pulled all the threads of her soul together and lived life in Norway with a happy bravery but I of course, never saw that, I saw the lowest points. To me, the plane was continuously on fire, always banking and failing.
She woke at times crying and she didn’t know why or she did but she didn’t have the words to speak it’s name. The arctic wind beat upon her window, a tiny square of glass at street level. A welcome knocking to break the suffocating silence.
She called me. She said things that I cannot recall any longer but through the distortion of the screen and speakers they twisted my chest and when she hung up, silent and spent, I could do nothing else by to slam the laptop closed, lean back on my chair and bite through my knuckle.
It was madness.