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What Happened To The Wall?

In 1989 the Berlin Wall fell,

and with it my sanity.

We were students then, me in my first year,

secreting knowledge in fragments of the night,

the idle hours, the ones not spent on parties.

School had passed like a parent

shrugged off at the car in embarrassment.

Teenage angst was now philosophy and politics –

spirited and worthy.

I was crumbling

in some quiet recess of the halls of residence;

suffocating from the absence of uniform,

drowning in love unrequited;

coming apart in my dreams.

My friend returned from her trip to Berlin

with pieces of the wall to give to her friends.

I kept mine under my pillow

where it soaked up the trauma of a mind bursting its banks.

Prosperity and hope did not touch me that year,

nor for many later.

While people danced in the streets

I clutched my own wall of terror

like a sinister teddy bear that would not loosen its grip.

The wall cast a shadow so forbidding

that I never thought I’d see the other side.

I didn’t even dare to picture the landscape beyond.

Meanwhile, in some wine soaked corner of Europe

an angry youth refused to celebrate with his friends.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t stop asking

why it had taken so long.

And what would happen to the pieces crumbled at their feet?

He and I both were building parapet from rubble,

being crushed by the effort.

I wonder now,

what happened to his wall?