I remember. I remember all the beautiful times. That time we were fucking against the full-frame window. That time we were at her room after the party, with her beautiful painting, forever half-finished, next to us. I remember touching her hand ever so slightly at Soupanova, a touch that would carry us for years. I remember that time when her panties were so wet she didn’t put them on when she left on that cold autumn day. I remember having trouble sleeping next to her in her amazing apartment, not knowing why, but I couldn’t enjoy having sex with her even though she was engaging and special and her body was stunning. I remember being outside on her balcony, smoking cigarettes, with something in the air: hope, beauty, the light of morning in the dark night. I remember her jumping on my back on that party, just being happy that I’m there. I remember biking to her place, along the Spree, crossing, visiting her amazing loft. I remember visiting her place for my birthday and she showing off her new high heels that she would never wear. I remember her touching my hand in the taxi on the way back from CCC. I remember her coming back from her parents’ place in the summer, wearing nothing but a white shirt and a rose skirt, meeting me at the door. I remember going to Tempelhof on that stunning summer day, her in front of me, blocking that strong sun, me saying something I will never regret.

And I remember HER. I remember all the amazing, beautiful times She has brought me. How she changed everything that is me. Her playfulness, depth, fragility, strength. What makes this place, this world, so amazing to live in.