The way home

Its a cold night in Berlin,

The wind, crisp

the silence, immense.

I cycle so slow I barely move,

my legs surrender,

the mind is weak.

Going home to myself,

after five years of him,

and his perception of me.

Going home to the sheets unchanged,

screaming love was made,

but exists no more.

Going home to the crack of down,

the agony and relief,

of not knowing about his breakfast.

Going home to the half drank teas,

half smoked joints,

and the half of me.

Going home to a cynical heart,

was he ever here?

Was I ever full?

My fingers shake while trying to open the door,

nose drips, ears buzz.

Was it him, was it me?

I walk up the stairs,

tears racing down my face.

It was me.

Going home to my arms,

wrapping my body,

singing me to sleep.

Going home to the sighs,

the weeps,

the ohs.

Oh there, Luu

Nice you're home.