The written loom

(when everything fit inside a bike ride and a mixtape)

“Do you remember the summers in Avlida? The heat shimmering on the asphalt like a restless sea, and bikes — always bikes — gliding between houses, loaded with salty swimsuits and wide open hearts..”

Mornings began with shouted invitations: “Αre you coming for a swim?” as if it were the only thing that truly mattered.. and it was..
Then came the dives, the sun, the friends, waters that burned with light, and laughter that cracked like ice in someone’s frappe coffee..

At noon, we went back home..

A kind of ritual:  washing off the sand, a kitchen towel on the table, and Grandma’s pot still steaming.. Her stuffed tomatoes… the smell of basil.. and her voice saying, “Have just a little more.”

Then came the quiet.. Two hours indoors — “The grown-ups are sleeping.” .. And we, lying on cool floors with damp skin, trying to pass the time.. Sometimes with comic books — Mickey Mouse and vintage editions, sometimes with our Walkmans in our ears, and always with whispers from one balcony to another, as if the world couldn’t hear us..

” Five o’clock sharp.. Doors opened again.. Bikes rolled back into the sunlight.. Ice creams, music from cassette players, songs from the ’80s echoing through open windows..”

No cell phones.. We’d disappear for the whole day, riding wherever the roads took us.
The only rule from Grandma was simple: “Pass by the house now and then, just so I know you’re okay.”

We didn’t watch TV for almost three months.. We didn’t need to.. We had our friends .. why stay in to watch a movie when you could ride into the horizon?

We had no money .. but somehow, we always managed to buy a souvlaki.. And that felt like treasure.

 “..And later, we’d dress up in whatever counted as “evening clothes” and head to the beachside bars.. not to be seen, but simply to exist under the flickering lights by the sea..”

We were young.. in the most innocent way.. The kind of youth that doesn’t even know it’s precious.. The kind that lives only once, but stays with you forever..

Did you ever have a summer like that?
One that didn’t ask to be remembered.. because it never truly left..

Some summers are never really gone..
They have no expiration date, no return ticket..
They live inside you, like the scent of basil, like a song from a cassette that never wore out..

And if one day everything feels like it’s shifting, remember this:
that child on the bike, with salt on their skin and wind in their hair, is still there..
Just waiting for another ride..

I guess… i just miss my Avlida..

Tatiana..