I first met her September of last year. There was no denying it, football was what brought us together. It was a passion that we shared with each other willingly and happily. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was falling for her, and little did I know, she for me. And that was how our love story began.
There was no hint of superficial nonsense within her, unlike what we see in most big cities the world over. The smiles were genuine, kindness was always extended to a stranger and the much-practiced frankness was disarming but endearing nonetheless. The more I saw of her, the more I fell in love with her.
We never saw each other frequently. Because each time I have had to travel miles and miles to get to see her. But she always waited patiently for me. I think the fact that we did not have much time together was what made each moment with her special. When I am with her, it doesn’t matter if I just stay in my room, reading a book or doing absolutely nothing. I was always at peace and that was the most important part. Most people will never understand why I went through with this. Sleeping in the airport, 9-hour train rides, 5°C rainy weather, cultural and language barriers. But those closest to me do. They know this is what makes my heart happy and I know that is what they want for me.
But like most love stories, ours must also come to an end. And I am afraid it has. A couple of days ago, I left her. It is probably the last time I will ever get to see her. This is me saying goodbye.
Goodbyes are never easy but I have plenty of beautiful memories. And we will always have football.
I am she, she is me. I am Munich.