Not November

It is not November I know that. Not to mention the sweet one.
I need no Mercedes either.
I have many scarves though.

My life in Berlin is coming to an end, I've been here for 16 months. I was good and bad. I felt lonely and had lots of fun with the Midrasha girls. Traveled enough, saw places, faces, spaces... many things have changed since I've come here.
I have too changed.

I don't write letters to Che Guevara anymore, don't get angry about social injustice and try to be patient with anything that comes my way. Well, it does not work sometimes.

Do you know what hasn't changed in me? I still close my eyes and imagine bluest sea and the sun hugging my shoulders, getting me sunny and free. I know all the theories about reality, life, people and the harsh destiny we have to handle since Adam and Eve decided to have the fruit they were not supposed to have.
Never mind Che Guevara, I wish I could write to Eve.
Or I may be talking to her everyday for I believe there has to be some part of her in me as in every other woman.

Haven't written anything lately... I guess I have been saying that forever. Gosh. Am I becoming one of those failed authors who keep complaining they cannot write? One of my friends from Georgia recorded my old poetry and sent to me. I cried. I used to write nice stuff and it is ironic all that I have written has come true. I do not remember my old feelings at all, I don't remember people who I thought I would never forget...
Everything has become just a tiny reminiscent of a somnambulic book called: Sophie's life before...

I am nothing but a dirt.
I am not the first to say that unfortunately.
We will all fade away.
Torah will remain - only thing that will always be as long as there is Someone watching over His creation.
Nothing else matters now and all I want is to go to sleep and let this week finish. SOON.