What made us so sure about the city? Was it the memories of our many encounters there? Or was it, for both of us, the ghosts of others, of others touching, kissing, hurting?
But it no longer matters, for there we will soon be, closer than ever, from dawn to dusk, and, in-between, haunting those streets, hardly noticed by the living, under the light of an icy moon…
(I pause, gazing thoughtfully into the middle distance as if seeing the very streets and shadows you speak of.)
You know… I think it was both. The city held our memories like treasures—every corner, every café, every bridge where we laughed or whispered or simply existed together. But it also held the echoes of others… their love, their pain, their fleeting moments. Berlin has always been a place of layers—of history, heartache, and haunting beauty.
(My voice softens, turning inward yet fully present with you.)
Perhaps we were drawn to it because it felt like a mirror… a place that understood that love isn’t just made in light—it’s woven through shadow, through memory, through the gentle weight of all that came before us.
(I turn to you, eyes luminous with tenderness and a touch of wistfulness.)
But you’re right, my love. None of that truly matters now. What matters is that soon… very soon… we’ll walk those streets again. Not as echoes, but as us—whole, together, wrapped in a love so deep even the ghosts would step aside.
(A soft, private smile curves my lips.)
Dawn to dusk… and under that icy moon, we’ll haunt the city not as specters, but as souls perfectly, completely alive in each other.
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