As a teenager I had an idol, as most teenagers have. Mine was a Swedish pop-rock singer named Tommy Nilsson. I adored him in every way. As soon as he came to my town to sing, I bought a ticket. Then I bought a red rose, every single time. He sang, I gave him my rose, and then he kissed my lips. My heart burned! I sent letters, cards to his place, I stood outside clubs, always dressed in black so that he would recognize me, the lady in black waiting for him to turn up – prepared to freeze to death if I had to. Once I even threw myself around his neck, screaming out my love for him all over the foyer, when he came out to write autographs. Five years of my life were crazy, fun, and something to remember for the rest of my life.
In 1994 – I was then 19 years old and on my way to let go of this adoration – he released an disc named “One Woman’s Man.” There was a song with that particular name on it, and the text started like this; “Ladies in red, ladies in black... ” Again, my heart was burning! He was singing about me! I just knew it, for sure. I was that lady in black!
Sometimes life becomes a fairy tale. The things you could never imagine happens, and they happen to you. Do you remember that in you´re writing? Is there really any boundaries between the saga and the thing we call reality? Is life something that goes on, no matter what we think or do, or is it our own creation that happens as we live, as we want it to be? Is there anything we cannot do? Is there anything we cannot write?
I never asked him if he really sang about me, or if it was a coincident. I never will. As the creator I am, as any writer, of my own life – my own saga – I prefer to create the story I want to live. Within my heart, that song is still for me. My life continues. The song continues. “A lady like you is never right.” And he´s right; we were never meant to each other. But he passed my life and became a part of a saga.
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