B

Dear B, In these restless days where I think about the next chapter, about leaving everything and just make a run for it into the big world of adventures, I miss you more than ever. I miss the smell, the streets, the weirdness, the unknown, the ceilings, the sounds, the tempo, the nights, the laughs, the people, the languages, the haze, the air in the U-bahn, the buildings, the secrets, the corners, the days, the words, the cold, the small stones on the pavement next to the big ones, the bridges, the drinks, the front door, the trees in spring, the windows, the long afternoons, the milky coffee, the fraus and the herrs, the bio, the burroughs, the sounds of the train, the stories, the everything-is-OK-ness, the parties. (Sorry Copenhagen, I know I'm a pain in the ass.)