I’m standing on the platform
of Warschauer Straße station
late on a cold February night.
The thought that preoccupies my mind
is that of you being so near to me.
You aren’t nearly as near
as we have been before,
but I miss our closeness so
that being 10 hours apart feels
as though a gap has been closed between us.
There's an absence of heat in the environment
and wind struggles to break through
my long black leather jacket
I feel the vibration of my phone in the breast pocket as it lights up with messages from you.

Oh, how I’ve missed sharing a time zone.
I tell you I love you easily
when I don’t have to see your face
as I say it.

The S-Bahn stops and people flood
the platform as others recede into the train car.
The wind picks up and a light rainfall
graces my cheeks in the now empty space.
I tell you how the city feels like home
and you reply home is where the heart is.
But my heart is with you in another city,
another country  
and you speak so sweetly through these screens.

I’m waiting for the U1
as I wonder what we’ve become.
I didn’t need this distance to grow fonder;
I was already fond enough.

The love I have runs deep and it’s not easy to erase.
I think of the history in these streets
and how the damage is gone.
There was once a time when the war was still raging
and it seems silly to compare and think of love
in a city where my feelings could easily become numb.
But here I stand on the metro platform
in a city once divided by hate
thinking about you, thinking about love,
waiting for the U1.