love. week thirty five.

August 23​ 

 

Home is such a funny word.

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When I landed in Berlin's new Brandenburg airport three days ago, worn out from a day of delayed flights and covid checks, worried about making the correct train connections, and locating the Airbnb at Guidystrasse 24, I could hardly have felt further from home.

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But now, sitting at a cafe just around the corner on a moist Monday morning, lazily sipping my coffee, softly tapping the ash off my cigarette, having said goodbye to Lisa and Paula, and with only a few hours left before my flight... thinking about leaving this city, this apartment, this spot, this moment... thinking about the last few days of stupid laughter, incessant sneezes, drunken dances, rambling conversations, boring metros, and all the walking so much walking, walking in the rain, in the sunshine, in the dark, in the cold, on an empty stomach, and on a full belly...

 

I feel that familiar warmth and calm that is only ever present in that intangibly delicious mystery that is home.

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