Postcards From Italy

maralazaridou
maralazaridou

You could play every single instrument in the room,
a god damn jack of trades,
and master of them all, too.
We’d lose track of time,
too busy getting drunk on the unison of our heart beats.
We created rhythms like tidal waves,
We were okay with the coast guard sending out warning signals.
We wanted the beach emptied for us.
Convinced we were the only two who could ever navigate our storms,
Cerulean dreams that sometimes, were a little like drowning,
sometimes,
were a little like Nirvana.
An entire ocean of just us.

You’d switch out the uke for a guitar,
Put it down once you got bored.
Swap in a little bit of harmonica and I’d close my eyes.
“I finally know love. I finally know love.”
Slender fingers I knew every inch of
stroking piano keys.
“This is forever,” I hum.
Never knew a boy could be so many things at once.
That he could sing
and strum
and conduct electricity with fingertips.
We were safe there
with his song and my applause.

My love,
I still think of you when I hear Beirut.

My love,
I hope you still have a melody
and the words to our soundtrack tucked beneath your tongue.

My love,
I keep seeing your forevers
when I listen to Beirut.


TC mark

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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