At Home in The World

Dear Diary,


I talked to a man today. I thought about my future. I thought about how lucky I am, really, and how I am going to do so many things in my life and I won't be afraid of losing people or being alone or even not taking chances on people I think are worth it. As long as there is music and nature and chamomile tea and smiles and baby kitties and fireplaces and photographs I will be alive and free. I love my hair, my skin, my lips and hips and breasts. I love my blue eyes and ears and wrists. Freckles and giggles and fevers and eyelashes. I feel another palm leaf growing out of me, out of my heart. I want to see him, talk to him more. I want him to tell me again that he wants to see me. talk to me.

love,

rebecca

Take me there

I want to speak lots of different languages. I want to take the train to Haarlem and drink caffe lattes while wearing pretty ruffled dresses at a cafe on a cobbled street. I want to wander and smile at strangers. I want to buy flowers at the bloomenmarkt just because; maybe make a wreath of them for my hair and lay in the sunshine. I want to see Franz Hals again, see his plump girls. I want to walk around Berlin in scarves and leather gloves and riding boots. Tapping my fingers on the door of the uBahn. Shopping for expensive chocolates at KaDeWe. Old gold and dusty books on the flea market walk before the Bode and Pergamon. I want to hold hands with my Eastern European husband that is right this minute looking out his window and writing poetry while sipping schnapps; wondering where his auburn haired American mermaid is. She is swimming in her mind, collecting all of her seashells an priceless pearls and preparing to take herself to Germany, land of her Mutti's Mutter. I can feel the golden cold, grölsh and gothic. I know she waits for me, I know she will welcome me, protect me. I will always have my American home...but now I am ready for my German one.