Out of the shadows, she dances within my drunken hands. Lips kissing beneath rain and scaffolding, the town is ours and always will be. Years from now, this moment will never leave. It never has. Saturday night neon replaced by midnight melancholy by the dim churchyard. All those graves as she led me to her bed. Those amber eyes and the way her hips begged me to hold them like how a child clutches their blanket in a sleepless dream. The Other. The darkness of her womb. Stars and fallopian tubes as my fingers pinched her wanting breasts. Wasted like a victim. Dry ecstasy at the base of my spine. She bathes to be clean, yet she never washes her bedsheets after I’ve been and gone. She praises this monster like a father. Hers is unknown, a figure of myth lost to death and disfigurement. All those lovers, seeking a truth that I left behind years ago. I seek in others no more. They can’t help me, maybe once, but those days have long since faded. What I seek now lies in the creation of thought. The purity of intent. Birth of wonder in the minds of those willing to suspend disbelief if only for a while. The road is eternal. Don’t try. Don’t even bother. If you have to think twice, then your heart’s not in it. If you have to weigh up the options, just turn around and keep on walking. Pain is what there is. It makes the glory taste that little bit sweeter.