（Contributed by Sylwia)
It’s the very first day of high school.
We’ve been herded into the gym,
everyone wearing that same
black and white
I feel different though,
and I sink into my chair
hoping they don’t notice.
She stops me
and asks me in French if I know
where this place is.
I smile and shrug my shoulders.
Tell her, “sorry, I don’t speak French”
But, how cool is it
that she thought I was Parisian?
I sit on the floor of my room,
my face blotchy and tear soaked.
I sit there, silently fuming.
How could he do this to me? I seethe.
He’s ruined my life.
I think with certainty,
I’ll never forgive him for this.
I’m still a bit annoyed with him,
as I drive him to work.
he looks over at me
and smiles sheepishly.
I notice how old he looks,
his face wrinkled and ashen,
He smells of smoke.
I can only smile weakly and look away
my eyes filling up, feeling sorry for him.
I didn’t know what to say,
when she told me
about her emotional breakdown,
Her slow descent into depression.
I felt annoyed at her
for telling me.
Or maybe more annoyed with myself
for not knowing what to say.
So, I said nothing.
I wanted you so desperately
that I was there for you
in your crisis.
Even though, I had my own crisis
I wanted to be there for you.
I texted you,
I’m here for you.
But, it always sounds so cliché.
That’s the problem,
even though I mean it.
He asks me, “do you ever feel lonely?”
and in my head I scream YES
because someone, or rather
he, feels the same way.
But cautiously, I ask,
“what do you mean?
And he says “yes”
and I say “no”
and that’s the end of our conversation
because that’s not what I meant.
I bounce down a bridge at 5 in the morning
as the sun rises over Kreuzberg.
Someone gets down on one knee
and proposes marriage and I say ‘yes’
and wave him good-bye.
I’m all on my own.
I feel free and alive
And I feel like running.
So, I run all the way back to bed.