Author S. K. Nicholas

The first books read at university puked upon in a drunken haze some Friday evening after a dozen pints and a kebab in the center of a strange new town. As a matter of fact, it was the only kebab I ever ate in my entire time there. Some of the books were saved; Wuthering Heights, a biography on Joy Division. I think The Canterbury Tales was rescued as well, but that’s neither here nor there. Three years in a room where only the view of a brick wall painted white kept me company. It was the room where I learned to drink, and the room where I lost my virginity. It’s all rather grotesque to think of now, but within those four walls, I learned the beauty of silence. The building still exists, as does the town, and they get beneath my skin to this very day. There are artifacts of that time that still resonate, but there are hundreds of days that remain unaccounted for. They slipped out of sight, and no matter how hard I focus, that’s where they remain. There was a girl I was in love with. She was the first one proper. So much heartache she caused, but now there’s only indifference. People come and go. Lovers, friends. Enemies. They dance for a while, and then they shift someplace else. Most of the time I’ve never cared, but occasionally their absence has forced me to quietly contemplate my actions. There’s shame. Maybe regret. But it’s the nature of time, and despite all that we endure, there’s no point to any of this except to witness the card we were dealt. People say my outlook is bleak, but it’s all there is. While they raise families to carry on their failures, I sit back and do what I have to. While they succeed at fitting in, I drift even further. Maybe one day I’ll drift into the arms of someone who feels the same, who can tell. What matters most right now, is being able to speak about things the rest would rather forget. There’s so much boredom and pain, enough to fill a hundred bookcases. There’s tenderness too, and sometimes when I let my guard slip, there’s love. As I contemplate her body and all that it stands for, there’s only the hell of what we are, and the endless desire to see her transform from an idea into an entity.