“11:06 pm —
Everything’s so quiet around me here, and my soul is so peaceful. Thank you, God, for giving these final moments this warmth, this strength.

I walk to the window, darling, and look out, and I see, even through the stormy clouds flying by above, a single star in the eternal sky! No, stars, you’ll never fall! The Eternal carries you on his heart, and me, too. I see the handle of the Big Dipper, my favorite constellation. When I left your place at night, when I’d walk out your door, it sat right in front of me. I looked at it so many times so drunk on happiness, so many times I raised my hands to it and hailed it as a sign, a sacred landmark of my ecstasy in that moment! And now — oh, Lotte, what doesn’t remind me of you? Like you don’t surround me! And like I haven’t hoarded everything you’ve touched, you saint, like a little kid!

And that dear silhouette I sketched of you! I’m bequeathing it back to you, Lotte, and I hope you’ll treasure it. I pressed a thousand, thousand kisses on it, waved hello to it a thousand times when I went out or came home.

I’ve asked your father in a letter to look after my body. In the cemetery, there are two linden trees, back in the corner beside the field: that’s where I want to lie. He can — he will do that for his friend. You ask him too. I don’t totally believe pious Christians will want to lay their bodies near a poor fuckup. Ah, I wish you’d bury me beside the road, or in a lonely valley, for priests and pilgrims to cross themselves before as they walk by the gravestone and shed a tear.

Okay, Lotte! I’m not shaking, grasping the cold, fearsome cup from which I’ll drink the dew of death! You handed it to me, and I’m not shaking. All — all — this way all the wishes and hopes of my life are fulfilled! So cold, so bleak, knocking at the iron door of death…

I wish I could have had the privilege of dying for you! Lotte, of sacrificing myself for you! I wanted to to die bravely, to die happily, giving you back the peace, the contentment of your life. But ahh! Only a few noble souls have had the privilege of spilling their blood for their loved ones and through their death forging a new, happier life for their friends.

I want to be buried in these clothes, Lotte, you touched them, you blessed them; I’ve also begged your father for that. My soul is hovering over the coffin. Don’t let anyone go through my pockets. This pink wrap you had around your shoulders the first time I met you among your children — oh kiss them a thousand times and tell them the story of your friend the fuckup. Those precious kids! They’re flittering around me. God, the way I locked onto you! From the first moment, couldn’t leave you! — I want this wrap buried with me. You gave it to me on my birthday! I just drank it all up! — ahh, I had no idea that path would lead me here! — don’t be upset, please, don’t be upset!

— They’re loaded — it’s striking midnight! All right, then! — Lotte! Lotte, goodbye! Goodbye!”