From the Rooftops of Berlin

It’s five in the morning and we can’t feel our bodies anymore

they may be in pain or they may just be so fainted from 

everything we placed in our systems

we drink more tequila because at this time of the morning, it’s all we can have to stay safe


the club is filled with smoke

and I can’t see him clearly, only when there are automated flashes of light

he grasps my hand so he doesn’t lose me

I doubt I could easily lose him, he’s so tall

he’s the British version of Mackelmore, and he’s so distinctly hipster looking

that he somehow fits perfectly with the club we are in


he asks if I want to leave, and I say yes

he has a rooftop apartment in downtown Berlin he wants to show me.

He knows, he knows it’s only the apartment he can show me

and he respects that, he says. He says the other man is very lucky. 


It’s vaguely dark outside and our eyes adjust to the slight difference in lightning

we can barely choke out words and our bodies look like they have been run through a drying machine

hundreds of times

the entire way, his hand is still with mine


to enter into his rooftop apartment, we have to use everything left in our body strength to push 

open a large, metal door and walk up 

thirteen flights of stairs. 

He says everything in the building was renovated except for a convenient elevator

and by the time we make it to his loft, 

I’m so exhausted that I’m not even astonished by the wall to wall glass panels that overlook Berlin


But he is. 

And he takes my arm to guide me towards the windows

Look outside, he says. The whole city is magnificent

and he is right. It absolutely is. 


We talk for a few hours, he makes a few passes

knowing very well that he shouldn’t have to begin with

he asks why I am there with him 

if I’m not alone. 

And I say, because I feel alone. 


He leans his head on the glass, pointing to the Brandenburg Gate

There is deep history within that gate, he says, 

but throughout all of the tragedies, eventually, it was given in peace.

I jokingly thank him for the history lesson

but he is serious, and says, 

Maybe it is time for you, too, to leave a sign of peace

instead of continuing to reconstruct what is out of your control.


I think about what he says, and he is right. 

He has been right the entire evening, and I have only known him 

for a few hours. 

I tell him I need to leave, that I’m not staying far away. 

He asks if he should walk me back, or if he will even see me again

but I tell him I’m not available.


He still asks for my number 

I let him know his friend has it and it wouldn’t be a good idea

and I fluster down the thirteen flights of stairs, into the daylight

and when I return to my own bed, 

I close my eyes and make peace with myself

before I consider how I will ever bring peace back at home. 

We Will Never Be Finished With Each Other

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