Henrik Karlsson (from “The Third Chair”):

“The stale, dry air reactivated feelings I had forgotten, feelings I had when I sat down here writing four years ago. I remembered my loneliness; I felt it with a defencelessness that I had denied myself at the time. Standing there with my groceries in hand, the intensity of the feelings took me by surprise. The feeling that writing was impossible; that I would never find a place in the world that felt like home; that no one except my wife would ever care about me.

Standing by the table, I walked into the memory. The sensation that writing was impossible; that I would never find a place in the world that felt like home; that no one except my wife would ever care about me, took me by surprise. The feeling that writing was impossible; that I would never find a place in the world that felt like home; that no one except my wife would ever care about me. Standing there with groceries in hand, I realized he thought he was alone. He wasn’t. I had been there all along. I just couldn’t reach him to tell him it was okay, that it would work out if he just kept at it. One more year, and you will learn what you need for your writing to work. Two years more, and you’ll find your way. ‘If only you knew,’ I said aloud to the empty library, ‘how grateful I am for what you’ve done.’ Something eased in me. And then I turned and saw, behind me—a third chair.”

There is no one around and I can really breathe