She comes to me at the bottom of a bottle. She swims in each mouthful, with cigarettes smoked in a drunken haze. Sparks of yesterday, glowing in her tricky brown eyes. Broken towns and factories. Boarded-up shops that speak of loss and sorrow. The rain came down, soaking us as we kiss. In the park where we first made love. In the pub where our bodies met in a frenzy. We’re ghosts and phantoms, forever living in the future and the past. To hold on and believe in a love worth fighting for. To banish ugly faces and pointless opinions. People that are of no use forgotten like movies watched in a drunken, teenage stupor. Wishing for something with meaning. Holding out for a love that burns away disillusion. I used to be so cruel, but being lonely told me to cherish everything. To go with open eye. To reach out, and hold on to those who are falling. And everyone falls, even if they don’t know it. Tired of doing nothing. My balls ache from too much self-abuse. Bones creaking then dissolving in hot water. Walking through the cemetery beneath autumn trees with leaves so fragile and weak. Smiling at dogs chasing squirrels. Frowning at gravestones weathered and worn so you’re unable to read the details of the dead. And dead they are, for a hundred years or more. Darkness forces you back under the blankets. Candles cast shadows. September scent, so subtle and old like the floorboards between the bed and the window. Old like my soul. Like memories of a time when I was in love. The further away I am from her, the more confused I become. Making little sense, I gasp for air and regret everything. Not wanting to move, I close my eyes and picture her in my arms. I picture her beneath me as we made love, together outside of time.
Do what your heart desires most, and ignore that stupid head of yours. Each and every day, and in every possible way. Care because it’s how you are. Live even though you’re afraid. Run through the night even though you’re scared speechless of the horrors that are waiting. Take photos to remember how beautiful she is. Never let her go, even when she wants to leave. Keep her close, and worship every atom she consists of. In the blink of a tearful eye, it can all come crashing down. In one intake of breath, all that you know can disappear never to be seen again. Romance. In my weary heart, and painted all over my face. It covers sin, and it papers over the cracks. Too many scars, and too much boredom. No one talks of love anymore. Nobody seeks magic. It’s just cheap, plastic smiles wherever you look. Damned to be human. Damned to be open in the hope of being saved. The easiest thing is to become like everyone else. To bow down to bland morality. It takes guts to stand up for what you believe in, especially if you believe in a feeling that can’t be described in black and white. A state of mind that can’t be contained in mere words. It’s deemed weak to be sensitive. Being hard is glorified. Being tough, that’s what we should all be. As tough as the Liberty Bell, and just as hollow. But I don’t want to be strong. I want to be real. To feel emotion in the palm of my hand, and to go wherever my hearts takes me. A fool for sure, but alive and free nonetheless. Real and in love. A believer in what can’t be owned. Keeper of journals. Keeper of the faith.