Last night in Oslo. Tomorrow morning I wake up early in the morning, turn in my keys, drag all my luggage onto the train and ride down to Oslo Central Station. I take the bullet train to the airport and get my ticket for my flight. The sun is still up its 11 pm right now. The sky is beautiful, a spreading blue like thick ocean water with the sun all off in the distance as a point and then back in front of the eyes is a pink cap across the tall buildings and all the clouds drift by in a lit up night. I will miss the seabirds that fly by my window, and the feeling that im at the edge of everything.

Madrid and Lisbon were surreal paradises. In Madrid I spent most of my time at the Reina Sofia, art museum, camped out on benches overlooking the garden or walking through the exhibits. Dali and Picasso, hundreds of other artists. Massive works of art that set the mind on a ride through imagination and feeling. I camped out for hours in the surrealist wing watching old french movies written by Dali and directed by one of his friends. People in love, clashing society, a bull in a woman's bed, a man kicking a blind man after he escapes from the police and takes a taxi in escape. All in a dark room on solid wood benches that reminded me of my father's work as if he had been commissioned by the director of the arts himself to produce those specific benches for this specific movie room. The projector making silent humming and my books and red notebook sitting idly by the side as my hands were cupped at my chin supporting my head, i was crouched and watching intently feeling nothing of the world outside.

The whole trip was an adventure, all alone and I met many people and most of them i didn't like but either way. And i slept in rooms populated by 7 other strangers. Except in Lisbon where I had reserved a private room. When I found it to be located in a renovated mansion, where my window overlooked a plaza, the floors were wood and there was a giant double bed and nothing else, i felt at home. lying on the bed and letting the warm sea air blow across my body as the sun splashed gently on all the people and stone buildings. i found tiny bars and cafes and sat there reading and writing until i felt intrusive but never really was. ordering drinks and sweet bread, then walking up all the steep hills and watching yellow ancient rusty cable cars sliding up and down filled with gaggly eyed tourists as i walked alongside watching.

and i ate in fancy restaurants and had revelations that i told myself i would write down but never did so they slipped from me in my sleep when all my memories were being reorganized and put away. and i am missing almost all of it and only able to put a shadow down of where i was and what i experienced. of a jazz bar off in some small apartment neighborhood with children playing futbol in the park across, old men laughing and me ordering beer after beer reading in dark / light, murakami, and only in a small room with the free jazz playing loudly and the neighbors bringing in their dogs. the bartender bringing out a bowl of water, until five hours had passed and i left to go lie on my bed. until two romanian girls invited me out to go have a drink and eat tapas and we sat and talked until the late night.

all of it just a glimpse and in a year i was told i probably wont think any of it was real. but already none of it feels that way, that real, all like an image i saw in a movie or in television. everything just far like i never even touched it but i did because i still feel the sunburn and the soreness in all my body. and i can taste the freshly grilled tuna and delicious spinach boiled in cream. all the fish and pastries and juice and coffee. the beers upon beers.

now im sitting in an empty room and i forgot how big this window actually is. the tree outside that was so barren and scary, terrifying when i first arrived is now a leafy giant in slumber and here i am smiling at it until the dark comes for only ten minutes and its not really dark. just a shade of darker blue until the sun decides it never went away. then again the tree is illuminated and i cant recall how it ever scared me. tomorrow ill leave my sheets and blankets downstairs.

donate the last things i have and take all my stuff and i left my plants to be watered by any stranger that reads my note and feels a compelling reason to do so. its over and ended and now, well, i suppose i dont understand really where it leaves anything and, rather, if any of it was anything at all.