And left it unfinished.
Behind the door, in a small alcove, lay a single object: a journal bound in red leather. Searching for- berlin in-
The dash after the “in” was what haunted Lena. It was incomplete. A sentence without an object. A destination without a name. And left it unfinished
“Henrik disappeared tonight. He left me the key. Said I’d know what to open when I stopped searching for Berlin in the past. I still don’t understand. But I am no longer searching for Berlin in his arms, or in the rubble, or in the crowds. I am searching for Berlin in the next breath. Maybe that’s enough.” in a small alcove
