Crete.

Calimera, calispera, calinichta.

I’m sitting on one of those chairs that feel utterly commercial and forced, yet oddly authentic, looking at the incredible view before me. The chair is blue and white, the two colors that seem to cover nearly everything on this island. In this country. From the white film of salt covering the rocks, feeling warm under my feet, to the almost unbelievable shade of the clear, blue sky. From the foamy turquoise of the ocean, to the white seagull which hovers above it, trying to spot its prey. It’s not only the product of man that’s blue and white here, it’s everything. And though one could argue that the blatant patriotism is the reason for this, to me, it seems to me that the people are merely imitating what is already there, and has been there for ages.

I take in my surroundings, marvelling at how foreign it all looks. The dry, maroon mountains tower over me on the east, south, and west side, framing what’s before me. The faint sound of goats can be heard, defying all logic and climbing to the very top. On my north, I see water. An ocean that stretches so far, it feels infinite. The logical part of my brain has disappeared and I squint to see if it actually is just that, when I see a faded silhouette of an island. No, not an island, I realize. It’s Africa. I sigh and think to myself:

Is this just a dream?

I continue taking it all in, while listening to my summer playlist. Suddenly, a song comes on. No, not any song, but the song. Pachuca Sunrise, by Minus the Bear, starts playing. A shiver runs down my spine and the blood starts coursing through my veins. This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. And I feel so happy that I could burst, because I never thought that I would get to do this. Hear the words “Midnight on a beach in the Mediterranean.” and actually be there, having seen a midnight on the beach in the Mediterranean. Knowing how the air feels completely silent at that time, only occasionally being interrupted by a gentle breeze. Knowing that it never really is a night, but only a dimmed day. Knowing that it’s a completely different world.

I remember the night before, laying on the rocks, gazing up at the millions of stars I’d never be able to see back home. Thinking that I was actually looking back in time. I felt so tiny. I’d just had the most painful hour of my existence, purging, experiencing delirium and eventually passing out, and I just laid there feeling empty. Peaceful. There’s nothing like the peace after purging. The calm after the storm. Me and a girl discussed life. Death. Everything. We spoke about the past, the present and the future, and I realized that this was one of those moments. One of those moments that would be etched in my soul forever. Because looking up at the stars, and thinking about the universe, I felt the vastness of it all. I really did.

Midnight on a beach in the Mediterranean. And I miss you, sitting here taking it all in.

Breathing.

As I drag my feet tiredly, further marking the path I’ve walked my whole life, I think of nothing – my mind not a blank sheet, open to the world, but a torn one, tattered and worn with all the erased thoughts. I walk with my head facing the ground, hanging heavy with the labor of living. I watch, but don’t see. Until something cuts through my vision. A sharp flash of light.

I stop and stare. Little water puddles reflecting the sky. Like little shards of heaven, fallen to the ground. Seeing the clouds down instead of up, such a bizarre sight. I reach down to touch them, to feel the soft smoke puffs of white ghost through my hand. Instead of dry, I am met with wet. Instead of pure, I am met with soil. The illusion shatters.

An invisible stone of reality hitting the mirror of possibilities. For a moment, I am sad. A light breeze runs through my hair, making the strands waltz around my face. I look up and smile, seeing the endless sky, intact and complete. It gives me hope. Hope that the summer is on its way, bringing the gift of breathing. Oh, how I miss breathing.

Note: This <- is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read.

So random.

My days have consisted of twitter, studying, twitter, White Lies, Kings of Leon, SXSW and even more twitter. Seriously, I’m hooked. And now I can fawn over Jared Followill on a more personal level. No, I’m kidding. Partially. Honestly though, SXSW – I’m so bummed I can’t go. I get that it’s virtually impossible for me to go, considering we’re literally an ocean apart, but I can’t help but fantasize about packing my backpack, buying a last-minute ticket and just go. Screw everything. Yeah, I’ll just keep dreaming. This has been one of the least substantial posts I’ve ever written, kudos to me. Here’s a pretty picture to compensate for my lack of interesting things to say.

Love & swallows