My Dear Venice.

Don't you sometimes wish you were in Venice?

Wrapped in the arms of a lover, enjoying the summer solstice, as nice as it is dreamy.

Or splayed on a blanket, enjoying the soft, warm pecks of the sun all over your back.

I think about it a lot.

About Venice.

About sunbathing on the fine grains of beach sand, lost in the repetitive crash of the massive blue of Lido di Venezia.

Unable to see the beauty of nature through someone else’s perspective will be the least of my worries.

Why?

Ha! Funny!

What other options could be more satisfying than viewing different possibilities without having your opinion infiltrated by some other’s?

I doubt there existed any.

I would love to be a companion to Venice.

Humming my satisfaction to the sweet and savory munch and crunch of food in my mouth in a bid for quenched hunger, a hunger so foreign.

Would love to fall in love with the city at first sight.

The city of canals, they called it.

I would explore each nook and cranny of your entire being, if you let me, Venice.

Letting the flow of your waters drive me to multiple destinations and out of my mind.

Engraving, unbothered, your beauty and peace into my mind.

For an entire civilisation able to drive me crazy, your name is a perfect fit.

The cool breeze provided at night, one of your many caresses that weaved in and out of my hair, left me half crumbling from tingles.

You would feel seen with my little adventures around you, making new discoveries as is deserved.

Venice is just that place, where you lose yourself to find yourself.

In the far distance, there was the clang of a bell. It felt all so distant, like a fuzzy dream.

Again it sounded, but less than a clang and more of a shrill this time around.

I stared at the direction of the sound and I saw it. My hypnotic cue.

I had fantasized the shrill of my wall clock with sagged hands to be the clangs from St. Mark's Clocktower in Venice.

I had overthought just by staring at a postcard with Lido di Venezia italicized at it's frayed bottommost right edge.

My aching buttocks on the only rickety chair around went to show just how far away from reality I had been.

What you would not make me do, my dear Venice.

Your mind is a portal to so many realities, so I heard.

My overthinking is proof of a key to a reality I more than enjoyed existing in.