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.