SUBMISSIONS OPEN: I am looking for strong personal essays from 1200-3000 words to be featured on The Muse Letter. Read the guidelines and how to submit here.
2
A cold train station in Berlin.
5 am.
A heavy suitcase is lifted up the long steps to the platform.
No coffee place is open yet.
Berlin had failed. It had never really worked out, to begin with. But now it had definitely failed. I didn’t even look up when the train left the central station. Berlin had done enough. I didn’t bother to say goodbye. The future would be my sanctuary. I didn’t know what was going to happen and I found comfort in that. At least I knew what was not going to happen.
My sad posture in the hall. Sad grey eyes somewhat lost in my face not knowing what to focus on every time I passed the mirror: ugly. Hard to distinguish between the feeling and the fact as if the emotions moved my features into weird shapes of disproportion.
I remember thinking I was pretty when I looked in mirrors before but I couldn’t find proof of it any longer. I either never had been pretty and this was reality or I was still the same on the outside but different on the inside. My memory was dividing my opinion, my face into halves. Maybe it was all just a scam.
And saying so
Made it so
I don’t remember the exact moment you stopped talking to me but I do remember seeking your words. Under chairs, under tables, under blankets, under coffee cups, under photographs, inside that TV show, we used to watch, between our books, behind that song, around those people we used to talk about, on the train, in the car, at my birthday. I couldn’t find them. The words were gone. They were not attached to anything any longer. I used to throw them at you like basketballs they bounced and bounced and dribbled and rolled and slowly, very slowly they stopped and you crossed your arms looking down at them. Surrounded by them. As if you had no arms. As if you had forgotten how to catch a ball. How could you forget how to catch a ball?
It took a while for me to understand it. I kept forgetting, I kept throwing. I was on a losing streak with each throw it hurt a little harder. Surprisingly it hurt harder each time not less because if you still try, even after it’s pretty clear that the game is over: It’s not just hurting that the other one isn’t catching. It hurts because: Why are you still throwing that fucking ball? Stop doing that!
So I did. I’m on a train. I’m not throwing in anything except a towel. I’m leaving things behind me. I don’t look up. I stare at my hands holding my phone. I put on music and when I feel that we’re far enough I do. Surprised to know exactly where I am.
Three days ago at more or less this exact point, I had been running from wolves. Now sitting comfortably my scarf as a pillow pressed against the window, just passing by, watching my past self like a rabbit running zick-zack through the dark forest. Everything looks harmless in broad daylight. In a couple of minutes, we will leave the rabbit-hearted woman and enter the open fields of Brandenburg again. It’s funny how long it takes for one to walk, how far things seem, and then being on the train, a bus, or a car and just effortlessly gliding, passing by in minutes what otherwise took hours or days to accomplish.
There’s a German song by Rainald Grebe about this vast forlorn landscape:
Es gibt Länder, wo was los is
Es gibt Länder, wo richtig was los ist, und es gibt Brandenburg.
– Ich fühl mich so leer, ich fühl mich Brandenburg.
(*There are counties where things happen. Where so many things happen. And there is Brandenburg. – I feel so empty. I feel like Brandenburg..)
I put it on and everything feels accurate.
This excerpt is from a novel I am currently writing on, which hopefully soon will be finished. It just felt right to share a little bit with you here.
And as a thank you to all the lovely people who are supporting The Muse Letter financially and securing its future; I am starting a new monthly series for you, where I will share the things I look forward to that month, creative tips, inspiration, crown the Muse :: of the Month, and answer your questions:
MUSINGS IN MARCH
crowning the muse of the month, things that I look forward to, creative tips, inspiration, and questions answered