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The Glass Child.jpg

THE GLASS CHILD
CHARLOTTE ERIKSSON

Author. Songwriter. Dreamer. Wanderer.

Drunk on someone else's love

Drunk on someone else's love

Drunk on someone else's love

5am again, drunk on someone else’s love, or couch, and I’ve never felt more at home. I fled myself, from the life I’ve built because I’ve...

You're Doing Just Fine

I am not a broken heart

I am not a broken heart

I am not a broken heart

I am the way a life unfolds and blooms and seasons come and go and I am the way the spring always finds a way to turn even the coldest ...

You're Doing Just Fine

Selected Writings ....

Books Charlotte Eriksson.jpg

5am
again,
drunk on someone else’s love,
or couch,
and I’ve never felt more at home.

I fled myself,
from the life I’ve built
because I’ve been inhabiting routines I don’t want to stand for.

Inhabiting skin I’d rather shed
but still took on
like a soldier serving his country,
for that’s what they told me to do.
But I was not
strong
or wise,
but young and foolish,
for what is this thing? Trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance,

and I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls
with clean blood
and organised drawers.
I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests
at night when no one else is alive,
or awake,
however you choose to see it,
and I live in my own flames.
Sometimes burning too bright and too wild
to make things last
or handle
myself or anyone else
and so I run.
Run run run,
far and wide
until my bones ache and lungs split
and it feels good.
Hear that, people? It feels good,
because I am the slave and ruler of my own body
and I wish to do with it exactly as I please,
and living in this skin is hard and painful, most of the times,

because I never volunteered to take this on.

The daily sacrifice of heart over mind,
the forever on going task of explaining this and that,
and why I don’t want to look like this and
be like that
but still here I am and if this is the body I’ve been given I’m sure as hell gonna make it work.
If this is the place I’ve been given, I’m sure as hell gonna make this work.

So I fled the me that was never really me and I’m on my way. To newer lands and uncleaned streets
for I’ve had enough of childish safety in comfort.
Enough of all telling me to look and do, like this and that,

and I never meant to please anyone but myself
and you can call me selfish,
throw words like knives in the dark but I will not listen,
for not listening to sharp words brought me to where I am today
and I believe in the path I’ve been given. If my only task in this life is to walk it,
I surely will walk it
prouder than anyone else.

If this is the path I’ve been given, I will walk it
prouder than anyone else,
for no one else can.

// from my book You’re Doing Just Fine ☾

© Copyright 2023 Broken Glass Records

Charlotte Eriksson Books

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CONTACT

Booking & PR: lisa@brokenglassrecords.se

FREE EBOOK

Travel Essays on Leavings and Arrivings

To thank you for letting me write and tell stories ... I'm giving you the digital version (pdf + epub) of my 2nd book Another Vagabond Lost To Love as a free gift, from me to you. If you like it, please consider picking up one of my other books as a physical copy in my store, or just simply share the ebook with a friend ♡

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I feel like things are possible again. Like the week before school lets out in June — when the air tastes like escape and the sky feels like it’s flirting. I could start a band, fall in love, drink wine from the bottle on a cliff no one else knows about.
The sun wakes us early.
Your skin in that light.
We ride our bikes until we forget the way home.
New tattoos still tender. Everything feels like a beginning.
Like the world just unzipped a little, saying go ahead — touch what you thought you weren’t allowed to want.

I feel like things are possible again. Like the week before school lets out in June — when the air tastes like escape and the sky feels like it’s flirting. I could start a band, fall in love, drink wine from the bottle on a cliff no one else knows about.
The sun wakes us early.
Your skin in that light.
We ride our bikes until we forget the way home.
New tattoos still tender. Everything feels like a beginning.
Like the world just unzipped a little, saying go ahead — touch what you thought you weren’t allowed to want.

I have hope
in who I am becoming.

I have belief in every scar and disgraceful word
I have ever spoken
or been told
because they are still teaching me.
I have hope in who I am becoming.

They say it takes 756 days to run to someone you love
and they also say that the only romance worth fighting for
is the one with yourself,
and I know by now
that they say a lot of things,
people talking everywhere
all the time
without saying a word.
But if it took me all those years to learn myself,
or teach myself
how to look into the mirror
without breaking it,
I know for a fact that it was a fight worth fighting.

I stood up for my own head and so did my heart
and we are coming to terms with ourselves.
Shaking hands  saying, “Let’s make this work,”
for we have places to go
and people to see,
and we will need each other.
So I have hope
in who I am becoming.

It’s July
and I have hope in who I am becoming.

// from my book “Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself” 🌱 Link in bio!
#charlotteeriksson

I have hope
in who I am becoming.

I have belief in every scar and disgraceful word
I have ever spoken
or been told
because they are still teaching me.
I have hope in who I am becoming.

They say it takes 756 days to run to someone you love
and they also say that the only romance worth fighting for
is the one with yourself,
and I know by now
that they say a lot of things,
people talking everywhere
all the time
without saying a word.
But if it took me all those years to learn myself,
or teach myself
how to look into the mirror
without breaking it,
I know for a fact that it was a fight worth fighting.

I stood up for my own head and so did my heart
and we are coming to terms with ourselves.
Shaking hands  saying, “Let’s make this work,”
for we have places to go
and people to see,
and we will need each other.
So I have hope
in who I am becoming.

It’s July
and I have hope in who I am becoming.

// from my book “Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself” 🌱 Link in bio!
#charlotteeriksson

There are certain songs that always make me want to write. I’m sitting on the bus, in the car, at the bar and that song comes on and the stories just crystallize themselves in my chest. It feels like they start there, somewhere in my heart, and slowly grow outwards, and they need to go somewhere so I must write them down and I just let my fingers run until they have written themselves and there they are. I take a breath, like, relieved I got it down. That feels good. That always feels good.

So I don’t write a lot anymore. I work in silence. Trying to stay focused. “Deep work” some high-profiled author called it. And I’m sick and tired of them all. “Authors” who don’t write their own books. Marketing experts using clickbait and multi-million-dollar PR budgets to get their “art” seen and heard.
Maybe I’m just jealous. Probably I’m just jealous.
I want it too. I want it all. The multi-million-dollar PR budget and all things glory.

But I’m also happy just doing me. Being me. Writing sometimes—when this song comes on, then I write, always. Times have changed. I’m older. I feel so much older. I laugh sometimes but mostly I work. I write and plan, strategically outline my days so no minutes go missing.

I don’t think about dying anymore. I don’t think about death.
That’s the most profound thing I can ever share.
I don’t think about dying anymore, I’m too busy thinking about living.
That’s the most profound thing I will ever write.

// from my book “He loved me some days. I’m sure he did.” ♡ Link in bio for more quotes and links to purchase 🌹

There are certain songs that always make me want to write. I’m sitting on the bus, in the car, at the bar and that song comes on and the stories just crystallize themselves in my chest. It feels like they start there, somewhere in my heart, and slowly grow outwards, and they need to go somewhere so I must write them down and I just let my fingers run until they have written themselves and there they are. I take a breath, like, relieved I got it down. That feels good. That always feels good.

So I don’t write a lot anymore. I work in silence. Trying to stay focused. “Deep work” some high-profiled author called it. And I’m sick and tired of them all. “Authors” who don’t write their own books. Marketing experts using clickbait and multi-million-dollar PR budgets to get their “art” seen and heard.
Maybe I’m just jealous. Probably I’m just jealous.
I want it too. I want it all. The multi-million-dollar PR budget and all things glory.

But I’m also happy just doing me. Being me. Writing sometimes—when this song comes on, then I write, always. Times have changed. I’m older. I feel so much older. I laugh sometimes but mostly I work. I write and plan, strategically outline my days so no minutes go missing.

I don’t think about dying anymore. I don’t think about death.
That’s the most profound thing I can ever share.
I don’t think about dying anymore, I’m too busy thinking about living.
That’s the most profound thing I will ever write.

// from my book “He loved me some days. I’m sure he did.” ♡ Link in bio for more quotes and links to purchase 🌹

Happy Swedish Midsummer 🇸🇪🌱😌 Your girl is 90% done with the cruel job of editing the new book. “Kill your darlings,” a writing coach once told me. “If someone stopped reading after this sentence, would you be ok with that? If not, cut or rewrite.” Brutal! And I love every second of it. Grateful for the time and space to work on this new chapter ❤️

Happy Swedish Midsummer 🇸🇪🌱😌 Your girl is 90% done with the cruel job of editing the new book. “Kill your darlings,” a writing coach once told me. “If someone stopped reading after this sentence, would you be ok with that? If not, cut or rewrite.” Brutal! And I love every second of it. Grateful for the time and space to work on this new chapter ❤️

Sometimes I hold my breath between two heartbeats so see what exists there. I want to write you a list of all the places that silenced me: Prague 2015, Christmas morning, alone on the bridge; Hamburg 2018, hanging up the phone, something felt off; Porto 2022, midnight, we’re both looking at the clock, we’re always busy, are you ok? Sometimes. You do drugs; I follow rivers, in sneakers, every morning, leaving. I hold my breath waiting for something to happen, a genie in a bottle, a change, maybe? My lungs getting tighter, counting to 6, counting to 7, want to breathe, nothing has happened yet?? just a little longer. I can’t, I gasp for air, the moment’s gone. I hear traffic lights and alarm clocks, dogs barking and people failing and I prepare for the next breath. Holding it. One more. A little more.

I only remember when moments go quiet. The end of every moment. The split second after the last word; the door shutting; the music stopping. Always looking at people a little too long, until they interrupt my moment: “what?”, “nothing.. just, it was nice.” Looking down, the moment is gone. I hold my breath, can I make it last? He’s in the bathroom, getting ready. Has meetings. Has plans. Someone else to see tomorrow. I hold my breath I hold my breath I hold my breath.
✧ www.CharlotteEriksson.com ✧

♡ Art by Pyankov Ilya ♡

Sometimes I hold my breath between two heartbeats so see what exists there. I want to write you a list of all the places that silenced me: Prague 2015, Christmas morning, alone on the bridge; Hamburg 2018, hanging up the phone, something felt off; Porto 2022, midnight, we’re both looking at the clock, we’re always busy, are you ok? Sometimes. You do drugs; I follow rivers, in sneakers, every morning, leaving. I hold my breath waiting for something to happen, a genie in a bottle, a change, maybe? My lungs getting tighter, counting to 6, counting to 7, want to breathe, nothing has happened yet?? just a little longer. I can’t, I gasp for air, the moment’s gone. I hear traffic lights and alarm clocks, dogs barking and people failing and I prepare for the next breath. Holding it. One more. A little more.

I only remember when moments go quiet. The end of every moment. The split second after the last word; the door shutting; the music stopping. Always looking at people a little too long, until they interrupt my moment: “what?”, “nothing.. just, it was nice.” Looking down, the moment is gone. I hold my breath, can I make it last? He’s in the bathroom, getting ready. Has meetings. Has plans. Someone else to see tomorrow. I hold my breath I hold my breath I hold my breath.
✧ www.CharlotteEriksson.com ✧

♡ Art by Pyankov Ilya ♡

My favorite thing about life is how quickly it turns without asking. One minute you’re bored or fine or brushing your teeth and then something happens and you’re not the same person anymore. Someone leaves. Or shows up. You get the job, or lose the job, and something breaks in a way that can’t be fixed, only carried.

The biggest things were never planned, just sudden. You say, “what’s the plan,” and life says, “this is your plan.”

I wrote an entire book about talking to death like it was a person at the end of a hallway and at some point I realized Death is not trying to take me. It’s just trying to wake me up. Make me notice. I’ve been rushing through the good parts of life like they’re errands, believing I’m always on my way to something better and bigger, but I don’t want a bigger life. I want a slow one. Wide angle but sharp focus. I want the kind of Tuesday where nothing happens and nobody texts back but the coffee tastes just right and there’s a new book coming out from your favorite author and they say the rain will stop in the afternoon. Your body doesn’t hurt when you sit down and tomorrow you’re going to the seaside with someone kind and soft.

Maybe the only real revolution is to live like it’s not all content.
To go unnoticed from time to time. To make soup. To need less.
To love someone who reads the fine print.
Or just to wake up
and not think of what happens next.

I’m not afraid of the ending,
I’m afraid of not noticing the middle.

#charlotteeriksson

My favorite thing about life is how quickly it turns without asking. One minute you’re bored or fine or brushing your teeth and then something happens and you’re not the same person anymore. Someone leaves. Or shows up. You get the job, or lose the job, and something breaks in a way that can’t be fixed, only carried.

The biggest things were never planned, just sudden. You say, “what’s the plan,” and life says, “this is your plan.”

I wrote an entire book about talking to death like it was a person at the end of a hallway and at some point I realized Death is not trying to take me. It’s just trying to wake me up. Make me notice. I’ve been rushing through the good parts of life like they’re errands, believing I’m always on my way to something better and bigger, but I don’t want a bigger life. I want a slow one. Wide angle but sharp focus. I want the kind of Tuesday where nothing happens and nobody texts back but the coffee tastes just right and there’s a new book coming out from your favorite author and they say the rain will stop in the afternoon. Your body doesn’t hurt when you sit down and tomorrow you’re going to the seaside with someone kind and soft.

Maybe the only real revolution is to live like it’s not all content.
To go unnoticed from time to time. To make soup. To need less.
To love someone who reads the fine print.
Or just to wake up
and not think of what happens next.

I’m not afraid of the ending,
I’m afraid of not noticing the middle.

#charlotteeriksson

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Reading List
Bio
Press

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