My midsummer starts with you. It's your birthday but you won't allow me to sing for you. The Swedish tradition of waking the birthday kid up with song and presents clearly hasn't made it's way over the Atlantic. Instead I attack you with kisses before you go into the city for a meeting, leaving your gift on the bed for when you get back.
I take my time eating breakfast and hanging out on the internet reading blogs and news. After a few hours Paula comes over and we start getting ready for the day. Boiling potatoes, chopping unions, making flower wrenches, mixing drinks. In the late afternoon people are starting to drop in and we dig into all of our IKEA-bought food up on the roof. Turns out Swedish food is a fucking success among Americans/Canadians/Spanish/Germans/Australians as we somehow finish all of our herring, meatballs potatoes and what not. All to the tunes of ABBA, obviously. As the sun sets we get drunk on rum and tequila and more people start to drop in, including my queen Linn, her boyfriend Daniel and his brother Nicolas.
Every chance I get I kiss you. It's like a subconscious action, knowing that I won't be able to soon. It makes my heart heavy but I push away those thoughts as you take my face in your hands and kiss me back. It travels through my body in the exact same way as it did the first time you kissed me on that first day of spring.
After finishing our drinks in true midsummer's spirit we head to Night of Joy and their rooftop. We talk about the Swedish midsummer tradition of putting seven flowers under your pillow in order to dream about the person you're meant to be with. Everyone laughs except for me and Paula who think it's the best tradition ever. Above us the fairy lights twinkle as we down our ice cold beers to help us survive the humid night. You grab me and give me a smooch and for a second I forget that we're standing with our friends in a bar full of people.
The night goes on and I don't know what time it is when we come home. With nothing but skin between us I fall asleep with my head on your chest and your arms hugging me tight. And in that moment I don't care about the fact that I'm going to have to leave soon. The only thing that matters is how your hand stroking my back moves slower and slower as you fall asleep.