When the infatuation wears off and everyday life puts its sharp claws into what we love, it's not the big gestures that keep the love alive. It's the little things. The things that make the few but close moments we share become a little closer. A little warmer. A little more frequent. Like a simple and modest mattress wedge from IKEA, for example. Because that's how our products work. They make everyday life a bit better. Whether it's about divorced parents, rebellious teens or two people who love each other but doesn't show it often enough. They're simply where life happens. And with an emotional concept that has achieved worldwide success through relatable and realistic imagery and film depicting modern life with a subtle product message - taking it on from a copywriting perspective was challenging. But sometimes it's a thousand words that does the job, instead of a picture.

Three familiar dots are slowly jumping up and down on your screen. She’s a solid nine. You’re more like a six. Or maybe a seven if you’re having a good hair day and you squint a little. You’ve seen her a few times now. At a house party. Over coffee. At that dive bar gig. You think you’re in love with her but don’t want to seem desperate so you don’t text her back right away. You’ve typed. And deleted. Typed. Dele­ ted. Typed. When you finally press send, every word has been carefully analyzed a thousand times over.

You’re thinking that she’s not really that into you. That she’s not looking for something serious. That her ex who hit the genetic jackpot is back. That they’re in love and are moving to Goa to find themselves under a Full Moon Party and get married to the sound of techno. Dot, dot, dot. When she finally answers, you’ve already gotten together and broken up at least three times in your head. But she wants to see you again, so you start hanging out some more. You don’t really know each other yet so you talk about all the things you have in common and no one else cares about. Your favorite movies, your divorced parents, why fries are better than boiled potatoes, and that fuzzy feeling of putting on warm clothes directly from the dryer. You think no one else can have as much in common as you have. That you’re made for each other. You don’t see each other all the time but you text from morning to morning. You joke, but not really, about having babies as a couple. About growing old as a couple. About your first fight as a couple. About being a couple. When you think about her you get hot in places you didn’t even know could get hot. You’re sweating all the time. You sleep together until the sun goes up. Exhausted and warm, you spoon until your arms go numb. You fall asleep in the gap of the bed, but it doesn’t matter. She wakes up in it, but that’s OK. It’s deep and cool. You’re on re. Nothing can come between you two. All of your texts end with kisses. Hers ends with a heart. Sometimes three, sometimes thirty. You call each other Honey­ bun. Baby. Boo. When you kiss, it’s like bungy jumping from the wing of a Concorde at top speed. You move in together. You take her old double bed with you. It’s more than enough. You promise to never go to bed angry, whatever happens. You swear on your parents. On graves. No crosses count. You go to IKEA on a Sunday to buy new pillows but only make it to a showroom for teenagers where you start making out. Like teenagers. You say you love each other. The first time you say it, it’s exciting.

The fortieth time you say it, it’s comfortable. You steal the covers when you sleep, but that’s OK. She eats really loud, but that’s OK. You always end up in the gap of the bed when you spoon, but that’s OK. You have a new job so you have to work a little more, and she just started studying so she has to study a little more. When you see each other at home you’re too tired to talk. But that’s OK. You have a lot on your mind. A lot on your plate. So you plan staycations and quality time together.

But something comes up. A conference in another town. An urgent exam. You can always go another time. You postpone it. You don’t have time to see her friends. She’s too tired to see yours. Her texts don’t always start with Honeybun. Baby. Or Boo. Yours doesn’t always end with kisses. It’s more like ”what do you want for dinner?” and ”I don’t know, you decide”. You watch series together, but not with each other. A costume drama on the TV, a sitcom on the computer. Someone goes to the bathroom with the door open, someone lets one out on the couch. Every time you make love it’s the first time in a while. But it’s OK. You promise to do it more often. You argue about small things that suddenly grow huge. No one’s wrong and both are right. You don’t spoon each other every night because you need your hand to scroll and she wants to sleep on her stomach because it’s more comfortable that way. No one wants to lie in the gap. So you compromise. A cold foot against an outstretched knee. A tired hand against a bare shoulder. You still love her but don’t say it as often as you used to. She says she loves you but says a lot of other things more often. You’re not quite sure what though because you don’t always listen. Instead, you think about your next salary negotiation, about how your mom is doing, and that you haven’t been to the dentist for ages. It’s OK. She doesn’t always listen to you either. You usually kiss goodnight. But not every night. You usually go to bed as friends. But not every night. You buy a new bed. You like it soft. Her back likes it rm. You want different things and that’s OK. Because now you meet in the middle more often. Just like before when no one cared about the gap. Now you’re replacing it with sleepy cuddles. Your legs, entwined like spaghetti. More I love you’s translated into body language. Not every night. Not all the time. But enough to know that you’re still in love. With your Honeybun. Baby. Boo. When you wake up in the morning your arms have gone numb. But that’s OK. Nothing can come between you two.

SIGGERUD

mattress wedge

9,99€

WHERE LIFE HAPPENS

IKEA