Love Machines

I’m walking through the streets of Oslo, heading for one of the trendiest and coolest parts north-east of the city. Near one of the universities there I suddenly stumble upon a hidden village – a complete society within the society, with small sheds and houses, charismatic shops, people in the streets and lots of animals.

At the top of a slight slope there’s a workshop, laid out like an open livingroom but with workbenches and tools accompanying sofas and tables. It’s strange. The sun makes the whole place glow in a romantic and cinematic fashion.

There’s a woman running the place, dressed as if her only intention is to make people like me turn into one-track minded fools. But to my own amazement, I start talking to her about her work as a mechanic, and the conversation that follows is fascinating. She’s lecturing me in some really heavy philosophy, combined seamlessly with the understanding of the workings of complex machinery. I am in awe.

As she is talking, we move from sitting on chairs, to relaxing in sofas, until we’re in bed, limbs entwined. We don’t go as far as having sex, we’re just cuddling; experiencing each other, being curious about each others’ bodies and feeling so good about it. I’m very happy.

From time to time she says things that makes me think she’s got a boyfriend. I immediately stop being physical with her. We still talk. I’m disappointed. She seems disappointed too. And then we have nothing more to talk about. We’re silent for what seems like an eternity, just lying awkwardly against each other on the bed.

I experience a feeling of losing someone dear to me, and then I wake up.