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a wonderful evening
a wonderful evening—
an evening under the stars,
in italy, hardly featuring
you and me, though we love
who we are. i have blue eyes,
yours evergreen. the gondolas
upturned and nestling,
the bulbous light
bouncing off the water
and refracting, splitting the sky,
beaming, beaming, beaming,
is the smile on my face
when i look over at my company.
i melt into your gaze,
disappearing like an ore sinking
in the sea. i split from reality
and fall into the fantasy
of the future
i wish would befall us.
i see the future so evergreen,
though we can’t ever rest.
i’d curse the color baby
blue if i’d ever have a baby
with you. we’d do
something neutral, like paint
the walls green.
the fantasy breaks
against a bridge, as i marvel
at how we can be beneath
what supposedly brings
people across.
i have brown eyes
turned blue by the scene.
how evergreen
are our dreams, how delicate
is the word “our.”
i never loved who i fell
in love with because i love
you. it’s religion, it’s fulfilling
every prophecy in view.
when the vast orchestral
tunes encircle and embellish
these words i will introduce them
by saying, “this song
is about the right person.”
this song is about you.
even when not in rome,
i always have a wonderful
evening with you.
a wonderful evening, indeed.
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This article has 2 comments.
One night, a friend and I were navigating through the blurred lines between platonic and romantic love, we fantasized about moving to Italy together and starting a new life there, and just kept describing what that life would look like. I got so lost in our fragile fantasy that when I felt my eyes get heavy I didn’t realize I was crying until after we stopped talking. And I remember thinking to myself, “This is all I could ever ask for. To be so captivated by someone or something you can’t even realize you’re crying.” I hoped to mirror that feeling throughout this poem. In that fantasy, I was someone else—so convincingly that I couldn’t even discern the tears in my own eyes. But I wasn’t a different person—I was the same person in a state of crying. I didn’t have blue eyes, they were still brown. But still to this day, my friend and I know that we will always cherish that small burst of fantasy we had that night. And now, I’ve capsulated and framed it in a poem, so it will live on for eternity.