Crumbly Apple Pie with Quince Wine

You picked me up at the train station with a red rosebud.

I was arriving from Schönefeld airport with my carry-on bag.

I was a bit angry because you were late, I decided to forgive you.

Since we haven’t met since Copenhagen, where a few months before we were on a date,

I was longing for your voice, your touch, and your embrace.

We had plans to visit Berlin, Potsdam, the streets, and the Brandenburg Gate.

All I remember was grapeseed oil massage, Sanssoucis Palace visited twice,

How divine were the evenings, with the breeze through the window open ajar?

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Despite the heat of summer through concrete fuming hot,

We once took a boat trip with our Indian friend after a Starbucks espresso shot.

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On a date in the park, we ate crumbly apple pie, and as we spoke, we had the most exquisite quince wine two lovers could hope for.

One time we popped at a jazz concert in the open air at Charlottenburg by the Spandauer Damm.

Our long walk to the S-Bahn from the Wannsee was surprisingly fun.

Hohes C orange juice gave you an adorable subtle chubbiness in the cheeks at that time.

Mostly, you were talking smartly, telling stories, or stealing a kiss without shame

I was marvelously content to be caught in your meaning of “kedvesem”.

We managed to start late every day from your dorm. It was fun. I loved our trips and our relaxed haste.

Once, we ate at your uni canteen and it felt like a feast.

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The rosebud turned into a full-bodied red flower, and then remained in the vase. You kept it there and later it sprouted small tiny green leaves,

Was it a symbol of our fate?

I was back in my dorm in Copenhagen.

Still dreaming of apple pie and quince wine

Sans Soucis times with my lover abroad—long distance divine.

A longing so pure, so consuming, so far!

Our next date was in a few months. We were meant for the long ride.

***I originally published this article on Medium.***

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