Am I the last to know? The first to inspire? I’m a good friend, I’m a good keeper, good at smiling, bad at sleeping. There is a world out there where Germany sleeps in a cushy pillow of mountains and dreams. I sleep in Germany where I am alone. No friends to make, no smiles to be read, many woodpeckers to echo in the forest of my mind, anti-aging potions of baths and beets and beer and green and green. I ramble up some words to return back to here. Back to rosy cheeks and pain behind my eyes. Physical symptoms of the time I live in. Symptoms of stagnation and fear and hives that itch and itch and itch and I scratch and bleed and hope they go away. Do you know what I don’t? Do they know what I don’t know? Who knows if I don’t?