BERLIN.
It was after Hydra, Greece that I came here to meet up with an old friend.
I was to take her here:
Landwehr Canal and the Turkish Market in the neighborhood of Kreuzkölln - one of my planned stops to get some food, then take a stroll among the swans.
Romantic. Yes. Therefore I will pretend she actually made it, that she had showed up at our exact appointed time, and that before coming here I was waiting outside her train from Hamburg, and as soon as the door opened she did come out, finally, and I embraced her, tightly, but soft as a scarf; that I didn't eat alone under these tents, and though it had rained that morning, that the collard stew in chickpea soup and rice cooked in orange water warmed our hearts; and that we bought cardamom tea afterwards and actually took that walk... and that cup felt, it did, like holding her hands.
Fast forward five months later. Now.
As I'm writing this blog, my dear cousin from Paris texted me a quote from the poet Elizabeth Alexander. The timing couldn't be anymore perfect to assuage my pain.
"Art replaces the light that is lost when the day fades, the moment passes. Art tries to capture that which we know leaves us, as we move in and out of each other's lives. Art knows this shadow - but work always against this dying light."
For love.
Post a Comment