Is it love,
if the images we share on WhatsApp
are of suitcases, boarding passes
clouds from your window seat,
cityscapes, indoor plants, and gifts we send
If our desires are limited to texts, emails and phone calls,
our longing exacerbated
by sweet voice notes
and mini updates from our days
Is it love, my lover in Berlin,
if I stare at you as you walk towards the airport gate
and not call out your name
because it is bad luck
Is it love when it rains here in autumn
and you watch falling leaves,
when we whisper sweet nothings over the phone,
over the time difference
Empty sides of our beds,
empty chairs at the breakfast tables
empty hands when we walk through the roads,
two pieces at two hemispheres
Is it love, my lover in Berlin,
if it is just waiting for you to come home?
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