Lost faun

"Lost faun". That's exactly how I feel, and what my outfit ironically turned out to say today. Together with my great friend Björn Rosendal I wrote and published my first book, The heretic and the faun. He passed away a year ago at the age of 93 and was an amazing person in many ways. Artist, writer, poet, doctor and founder of The Museum of Drawings in Laholm. He was dedicated to the subject of emotional intelligence (in fact, according to a fairly recent German article, he founded the very subject) and we had lot's of fascinating discussions. He was a brilliant support when it came to editing poetry and the closest friend I had in regards to discussing the darkness within. That overwhelming feeling that makes you want crawl away and hide for some time and just paus existence. Now, when I'm quite far a long in my second book of poetry I realize how much I miss him, how much I need him. At the same time I find myself in a difficult emotional place right now, and I don't know how to cope with it without him. I'm horrible selfish in missing him, but also so very lost. I'm lost and don't know how to find my way in all of this without him guiding me. I know he wanted me to managed on my own when it came to writing, but it's just so difficult without him. 

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