Promise To Send Me A Postcard
I hummed idly as I spun the silver rack that held postcard pictures of Oia and Fira but failed to capture their beauty. I should know I could see the Aegean sea as blue as toilet water from the small souvenir shop on the port.
Thousands of miles from home I was standing near the edge of the ancient caldera which my younger self would have never thought I would see outside of a movie about girls who shared a pair of pants.
I flipped my fake black Ray Bans over my eyes to block out the mid day sun as I left the gift shop empty handed.
I was always awful at buying souvenirs. Especially postcards. To me they were the most inane of all the chachkies you could purchase. They were the ultimate f you. Here is a picture of a wonderful place you have never been and a short message about how I wish you were here but really I don't because if I did you would be.
I also resent the space I'm given. I'm a writer. I want my space to be limitless and postcards are always far too small to contain everything I want. Perhaps I should start sending people letters or short novellas. But they'd just complain that the letter could come from just anywhere. They couldn't show it to their friends or hang it on their refrigerator.
I looked back at the gift shop as the large blue and white ship pulled into the port. Perhaps I would take a second look. The postcards were only a few euro cents each and I did have an 8 1/2 hour ferry ride ahead of me. I went back inside, I hate disappointing people.
submitted at 2:12am
6 January 2011
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