Postcard Written on my Windowsill at 1:37am, Thessaloniki

Charitini Lekou

Two nyctophiles stargazing, a few light-years apart. Tonight, they glitter like my amber ring used to. Yes, I saw it around your finger when you last spoke to me—a stranger who knows about your sleep paralysis. But since you asked, this room looks the same: flat surfaces crammed with amigurumi, walls suffocated by posters; Every book has a cracked spine now. And since you’re wondering, my heart is still soft for Austen, who understands perpetual estrangement. I’m still fluent in F.R.I.E.N.D.S quotes. But now I’m not ashamed when I swear, or blast terrible nu-metal, or tell boys I play video games. You were a petal-pink bruise that branded my wrist, then faded, once I stopped feeling for a pulse. All is well.

P.S. I hope the stars shine as bright on your end of the city. Please, look the other way next time we brush shoulders.