I'm begging you to

Chapter 6 - I keep them on the floor

I highly recommend (if you haven't already) that you listen to " i keep them on the floor beside my bed" and maybe even watch the interview with Lotta Brome and Agnetha. All I'm gonna say is "Summer Night City" and "Summer nights together" :')

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Chapter 6:
Agnetha staggered through the dark, barely lit streets. Fortunately, almost no one was out at this hour. She felt like she was in a trance. She walked and walked. She didn’t know where she was going and she didn’t care at that moment that she had come by car. She just had to get far away. And preferably forget everything that had just happened and what she had just heard. She felt so incredibly pathetic. Secretly, she had probably always known why she did what she did. And that Margareta was right. Agnetha’s chest tightened and she slowed her gait to catch her breath. Her head seemed empty and as if she had no more feelings left inside her. Suddenly she didn’t even know if she was still angry. It wasn’t even Margareta she was angry with either. No, it was herself and... and Frida.

How often had she forced herself never to speak that name again. Not even to think it. And now she had said it. For the first time in years to a stranger, a woman she had ended up in bed with. What was she even doing here? How did she turn into a pathetic whore? Trying everything to get that one single person out of her mind. She could no longer count how many people she had slept with and yet none of them seemed to have any meaning. No one managed to satisfy her hunger. And much more her pain. The pain that ran so deep. The pain she didn’t want to feel at any price, because she knew that otherwise it would threaten to kill her. So the pain began to turn into anger.
Not even one call. No letter. Nothing at all. That woman had just left her without explaining anything.

Agnetha hadn’t understood it at the time. Her feelings. And she didn’t even know if she fully did now. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter now. It had no meaning anymore or ever. Because Frida didn’t care about her. For the other woman it had always been something else. Not even a friendship perhaps. Otherwise she wouldn’t have just left so easily? Would you even be able to just turn your back on the person who is the most important thing in the world to you and leave? Just the thought made her sick to her stomach.

Agnetha still stood breathing heavily at the edge of an unfamiliar pavement in the middle of the night as if she had just run for her life. Next to her, a slightly flickering lantern, on which the blonde woman held on to for support. You should go home now. She heard her own thoughts tell her as if someone else had said it to her. For once she actually listened. So she somehow made her still trembling legs turn around and walked - more slowly now - back towards her car. And while she walked she noticed how the sultry yet clear air seemed to bring her down a tiny bit. From far away, she could hear a bird chirping quietly but still determined in what he was doing. All alone. In the middle of the dark? Without a care in the world, he simply did what he felt like doing, even if he was the only one doing it. He didn’t mind that. But how can this bird go on singing after all?

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When she finally arrived home about an hour later, she just kicked off her shoes as she came in and walked straight to her bedroom. It was still dark but she knew that the sun would rise soon. Nevertheless, she was not the least bit tired. She let herself fall on her bed, took several deep breaths and then reached down for a small brown box that lay on the floor beside her bed. When she ran her fingers over it, a thick layer of dust came off. She had not touched this box for years. She didn’t know why she still had it at all. She had simply thrown all the photos into the box, closed it and never opened it again. At one point she had also considered throwing them away or even burning them. Yet she had not done it.

Agnetha lifted the box and placed it on her lap. For the fact that there was only paper inside, the box was incredibly heavy. Could photos be so heavy or was she just imagining it? Since she had left Margareta’s house, everything had happened as if in a trance. As if she was outside of her body and was just watching everything happen. As if she no longer had any influence on what she was doing. Before she could give in to the impulse to put the box far away again, she put her fingers on the lid and pushed it open. Suddenly the memories started to flow. Like a big wave crushing her. The images were rewound. Everything she’d tried to hold back so bad. And now she remembered why she hadn’t touched the box since the day Frida became a mere memory.

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I couldn’t take it anymore. I never thought I’d hurt this much. The picture is me and you. I loose myself in time. The movie still plays on inside my head. You’re always here. That’s how it seems. I feel you even in my dreams. Summer nights together. Walking hand in hand. Why is love so hard to understand?