Parea

Lyrics

The air tastes of salt and wild thyme.
The day exhales.
And we arrive.
The table is a small map of us.
A plate of olives, a block of feta glistening.
Yannis pours the water into the ouzo...
and the clear spirit blushes into cloud.
Eleni laughs, a sound like honey.
The backgammon dice, the tavli, click-clack in the corner.
No one asks what we are doing here.
The question would misunderstand the answer.
This is not a plan.
There is no agenda on the table,
only bread and wine.
This is not a means to an end.
It is the end.
Just this. The simple being alongside.
Para eimi. Parea.
The conversation is a slow river.
It finds its own way around the rocks.
Politics, the price of figs, a story about a goat from 1982.
It doesn't have to go anywhere.
The silences are comfortable,
worn smooth like sea glass.
We just hold the space between the words.
This is not a plan.
There is no agenda on the table,
only bread and wine.
This is not a means to an end.
It is the end.
Just this. The simple being alongside.
Para eimi. Parea.
Some old philosopher tried to name this.
Philia. A city built on friendship.
But he used too many words.
All he needed was this veranda,
this fading light over the Aegean,
the shared weight of a quiet Tuesday.
A small rebellion against the clock.
A promise to waste time beautifully.
The glasses are empty now.
The moon leaves a silver road on the water.
We don't say goodbye.
We just... drift.
Carrying the warmth of the table
out into the night.