Hey, Berlin, we need to talk.
Listen: before you say anything — it’s not what you think…I mean, wait, what do you think it is?
Never mind. Wow- deep breath. Here goes:
So over the past couple months, I’ve felt this like, yawning chasm opening between us. I thought it was just one of those “ruts” at first, and people kept telling me to give you another chance, so I did, I gave it some time. And you can’t say I didn’t try really hard to mix things up. I even quit my job, so I could spend more time with you…well, all my time with you, really. I explored every inch of you, I stayed up all night with you, talking, not talking…
Shit, I’m no good at this kind of conversation. Am I rambling? Listen to me — the last thing you should think is that I don’t love you anymore. Look – it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s sort of because I DO love you, so much. Too much! Ask anybody. I’m obsessed with you. It’s true.
Let me put it this way: I came to you at a time in my life when you were exactly what I needed. But I’m a different person than I was just one year ago — thanks to you, Berlin, light of my life!
Now I think we owe it to ourselves, to each other, to get out there and explore those things we were thinking about doing before we even met, to peek adventurously behind those doors that would slam shut forever if we took the safe road now and just settled in comfortably to our life together.
I realize this is maybe not as enticing a prospect to you as it is to me: being made of stone and glass, wood, rubber, spunk and sprockets, and god knows what other kinds of funky spacejunk, weighing billions of tons and covering an area of roughly 890 square km. makes it hard to branch out, socially and romantically. But hey, chin up baby; consider: maybe I’m handing you a golden opportunity, a million-dollar chance to break out of your shell a bit. Improve your English! Get a job! Stop drinking beer before 10 am!
Aw come on now! Please don’t look so gloomy; there’s absolutely nothing you could have done differently to make me stay; you’re perfect, just the way you are, really.
It’s not you. It’s me.
The truth is, I’ve been feeling stuck for a while and I need a change of pace. I changed my hair, I switched from white wine to red wine, I changed my Facebook profile picture (more than once!), but nothing is big enough to relieve this dull ache of existential stagnation. I can feel it gnawing away at my bones, whispering into my ears while I lie dreaming, and it’s telling me that I need to leave you, if only to prove myself wrong. If I committed myself to you now, I’m sure it would just end badly — for both of us.
But I mean while we’re on the subject, it’s not like you haven’t pushed me away at times. I’m not one to hold a grudge, and I don’t mean to play the blame-game here, and I love you to death, but what about the time you made me pay 40 EUR, just because I brought my bike on the S-bahn. That really stung.
And how many times this winter did you play that prank on me, where I stepped outside only to find your sidewalks had been covered by tiny glaciers overnight? Maybe it’s just because I’ve never really been able to understand the secret German soft spot for slapstick, but slipping and falling down over and over again was not funny to me! It was really embarrassing! You don’t even want to know how many millions of dollars I could sue you for, if this were America.
And how many times was I forced to run for the cover of the nearest Spätkauf, my delicately straightened bangs already curled beyond repair, because you failed to properly notify me when you were going to rain torrentially? You could have short-circuited my iPhone. Yeah, I’m not laughing.
And yes, the parties were the fucking truth; all those dewy summer dawns spent twisting and jumping in some glowing purple bunker — ecstatically mind-blowing, actually, even, sometimes — and you finally got me to appreciate minimal techno, I’ll give you that one, but explain to me why nobody ever even shows up on the dance floor until 3 am? Is there some kind of rule that you can’t dance to electronic music until all the other genres have gone to sleep? No. You know what I think? I think it’s all that Club Maté you’re always drinking. Yeah I said it.
I’m not gonna lie: even though I’ve definitely totally made up my mind, there’s still part of me that thinks I must be making a terrible mistake — after all the crazy shit we’ve lived through together, you know? But I’ve got your number. And you’re not exactly going anywhere, ha ha.
Oh and by the way, whatever you heard about me and New York? Lies, baby. Slander. Everyone knows you can’t believe everything you read on the Facebook.
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perfect.
Comment by fireislandfrenchie September 13, 2010 @ 2:31 am