Rakastan

The station for Turku comes into view as my cheek hits the window. I have fallen asleep again thinking about him. Coming to Finland I had hoped to erase him, to bury him in the trees and lakes and valleys. Yet he was everywhere. I wasn't even sure how I thought coming here would allow me to move past him, I suppose I thought at least coming to Finland I would have a greater reality on things such as the fact he is famous incredibly here so my feelings were just star enhanced or something. That didn't work because I didn't see him as some famous singer, I saw him as an incredibly talented writer with a vocal voice that harmonized the chords into a melody of seduction, sadness or whatever he willed you to feel. I came to finLand for Finland. The country had many great aspects to write about so I took this as an opportunity to write about the geography, the people, just the ambiance of it all. Yet all I bought about in the beauty of it all was that such a beautiful country would be the mother figuratively speaking of an astounding beautiful man.

I exit the station and zip my coat up to my chin. My phone vibrates next to my cold fingers. It's probably Sen or Euri. All I want to do is sleep and embrace another dream, never waking up to the cold reAlity of truth.

Ville's POV

Cal looks at me intently. He's waiting for an answer. Seppo called last night about a Finnish Publisher who wanted me to write a piece for his new collection. Cal had a reputation for being gifted in spotting talent among writers and his proceeds went back into Finnish organizations that helped the arts. He was commendable but I wasn't sure why he was asking me.

"I'm collecting people's poems or etc. On their view of Finland to show the world," Cal remarks hoping to entice me.

"I'm sure everone would love to read about Helsinki being dirty," I reply sarcastically.

"Ville, everyone says you are one of the most influential Fins. You lack no writing error, I'd love to include you in the book. Besides you know you love Finland," he says with a smile.

I can't deny my love of the city and country, even if Helsinki has seen better days.
"Alright," I agree with a shake of his hand. I figured the project would be especially interesting since Cal was including foreign pinion pieces.

"Are you going to ask any of your students to contribute?" I ask him.
"Perhaps a few Fins, but I want to use passionate expression pIeces whether they are negative or positive. Of course I want this to be clean and mature though. None of my students are really concerned with Finland right now and I am seeking certain talent on this one," he says pondering.

"You already have a bias. Why not ask the school if they have any new fresh talent or current ones?" I suggest.

" I just want people that can really express our country differently. I Want people that dislike it for the reader to convey it just as I want someone who loves Finland to be Ble to yrNscend the word so it become feeling," Cal says excitedly as if an idea has just popped into his head.

"What about a foreign opinion with my own?" I suggest feeding off his unspoken idea.
"Yes! You certainly can express Finland as a native and I could get a foreign opinion who appreciates it here as if they were a native. Scratch the book idea. I'll get the other opinion you two can work together to form the poem celebrating Finland just in time before the Holiday celebrations," Cal exclaims clapping his hands a d reaching for his phone.

I hear him leave a message for someone who sounds like a student.

" I thought you were using a foreign opinion?" I ask him after.
" I am. She's a student at the Premiere University and her passion is inense. She has a rare gift for expression," Cal speaks of her in awe and pulls out some papers.

I reAd excerpts. The poems stun me. There is an odd sense of connection with the flow of the pattern that I feel the emotion coming alive. Whoever she is, she's a natural and with Cal she'll exceed anyone today. I feel strAngely curious to work with her.

"who is she?" I ask turning the pages of Another piece.
"Jaclyn," Cal answers.
Her words on love and her unique way of expression are so stArtling raw and refreshing, I get lost in the emotion and feel the author's emotion.
"The french are talented," I mutter still amazed at the talent.
"she's American," Cal laughs and takes the paper from me.
"How old is she?" I ask.
"Twenty," Cal replies.
"There is no way someone can write like that at that age. She writes like a wise old woman yet there is an invigorating vitality to it," I say dumbfounded.
"You write the same. Anyways, you are the reason I found her," Cal says.
I look at him skeptically.
"that poem you love, Northen Lights about Finland," Cal hints.
"Yeah, it's popular here. Whomever the anonous author is shoudl come out since Finland would pay homage to it's own talent," I reply.
" I did some snooping. The intimatcy of the emotion makes you think of an old Fin reflecting on his country, but it's not. She's the one that wrote it," Cal says and watches as my face becomes surprised.
"I need to meet her," I say without hesitation.
"You will soon enough. So you'll work with her on the poem?" he asks one final time.

"yeah but I'm sure Finland will soon find a new love," I say and glance down at the streets.

How could someone write something so beautiful and not be a citizen of that country? My writing skills woudl pale in comparison to whatever she was going to write. Jaclyn, hmmm, what an interesting time this would be.