Me.

I was watching an interview with Phoebe Waller-Bridge, about Fleabag, and why her character can’t tell to the audience about her pain in the final episode of the first series. She tells to a random taxi driver instead, the audience almost incidentally present, about her greatest worry, about her deepest sadness. When Phoebe said that, in the interview, I realized — that’s what I did when I told AP about having accepted to go for an interview in London. I didn’t tell it to her, I told it to her friend, AP being only incidentally present. Because I couldn’t tell it to her, I didn’t have the courage, I was too afraid, I was terrified of what it meant. That she will leave and I will leave too, because I couldn’t live in Berlin anymore without her. Everything here reminded me of her. Everything still does. All the parks and all the bars and all the museums, I am walking around and I see us, our times, her, me, together.

I just kept hoping, I just kept hoping
The way would become clear
I spent all this time tryna play nice and
Fight my way here

See, I’ve been having me a real hard time
But it feels so nice to know I’m gonna be alright

I watched Fleabag and the final scene made me remember the last time I heard someone tell me they love me. I wish I had reconsidered then. Catie really meant it, I know, and I was just there, not realizing how far she has come to meet me halfway. How broken I was and how she helped me put myself back together. What an amazing time it was, how gentle and caring she was. How far we have come. I miss her, and I wish she was here again. I’d love to cry in her arms.