A Man in Love

by Karl Ove Knausgård

Everything was as it had been, yet it wasn’t, for imperceptibly, so imperceptibly that it seemed as if it wasn’t happening, something in our lives lost its luster. The fire that drove us toward each other and into the world no longer burned as bright. Moods could spring up, one Saturday I awoke thinking how nice it would be to have some time for myself, visit some secondhand bookshops, go to a café and read the papers … We got up, went to the nearest café, ordered breakfast, that is, porridge, yogurt, toast, eggs, juice, and coffee, I read the papers, Linda stared down at the table or into the room, said at length, do you have to read, couldn’t we talk? Yes, of course, I said, closing the newspaper, and we chatted, it was fine, the tiny black spot in my heart was barely noticeable, a little hankering to be alone and read in peace without anyone demanding anything of me was forgotten in a flash. But then came the time when it wasn’t, when on the contrary it led to ensuing moods and actions. If you really love me, you have to come to me without demands, I thought, but didn’t say, I wanted her to notice on her own.