Third Letter, January 15

Dear Berlin,

The morning after: I float.

I did have some nightmares, but I woke up to you, and the whole city still seemed half asleep. We walk together in the freezing air and ride the bus to school. Everyone is quiet.

At work, every window is a delight. The sun takes her time, and the rooftops are such a pleasant beige color with the palest blue, almost white sky about. It’s a cloudless day, and I can see for miles.

I think about how precious this is, and I’m filled with affection for you. You’re so beautiful, and as the sun slowly lights you up, you glitter.

After work, I go for a walk. With you. There are no leaves on the trees, and every couples of blocks stands a small group of people, scratching their heads over various small-town puzzlements: some faulty wiring, perhaps today’s front page, a dog, 80 crates of beer stacked up, Christmas trees still strewn on the sidewalks.

You look more severe in the late morning sunlight, less still than from the rooftops, but still slow, still cozy. We walk behind a man pushing a cart, step, by, step. If I were in a hurry, I would be annoyed, but you remind me to just breathe in the winter air and feel the yellow light on my face and I smile.

Love,