This Fable Has No Ending

If I wait here, how long until you pass? I have the will to stand still, but not to move. I am waiting for a sign. A book of 100 rooms. To tell me what to do. Do nothing. The rules of the universe are mine to abide. Listen to the therapist, she knows best. Live your life by the rules. Do what the future version of you wants. But not now. Now you must relinquish control and stand still. Do not make a sound. Avoid all eye contact. Don’t count the cards. No tricks. No spells. Just be still.

To Me

Never a home. I can only think of the house as empty. The dahlias as newly bloomed. I can’t remember the past five years of my life. I can’t remember who I was, or who I became. When I think of myself, I think of Germany. I think of love in Germany. I think of flying solo, free as a bird, in Deutschland. Ich liebe dich in Deutschland. German rolls off my tongue, as natural in my throat as saliva and blood. I don’t think I ever left Germany. I left me at that train station in Berlin. No fair to pay, no judgement to pass, no secrets to conceal. I bared my soul to you, to me, to Berlin, to Radolfzell, am Bodensee, Konstanz, und Eugen’s. Prost. To life.