Ghostwood

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Amidst the words and ruminations about the women I’ve loved, there’s nothing more beautiful than the memory of her falling asleep, or perhaps the image of the golden arches of a McDonald’s rising from the broken landscape of a town we once called home. On our way back from a night out in a bar where we received free shots of vodka with every pint, a glimpse of her drunken smile poking out from between the layers of her scarf and hood shall stay with me no matter what. All those roads and footsteps that have danced arm in arm, and each and every word that have flowed these past three years. All those musings and muses that have shone for a while only to dwindle like a far away star. Sometimes they seem so magical, and at others, they suck the life right out of me. Feed me junk food and wine. Tread on my dreams and leave me dry because I’m after something more and I can’t keep pretending that the dreams we held so dearly mean what they used to. It’s okay, I understand. I’m just some washed-up art student working a crummy job trying to decide whether it’s more important to live or die. Life as we know it is our everything, and yet it always holds us back. From the moon above my head to the night I first kissed you to the light bulb that looked down upon my weary body as I stayed in bed for weeks on end not knowing who this man was that had replaced the child within. On the horizon, there are buildings that remind me of who I used to be but each time I seek them out they push me further away. We shift and stay the same. We lose ourselves without realising and become those ghosts our grandparents told us about in whispered stories as they tucked us into bed on sleepovers during the holidays. The wheel keeps spinning, and it always will.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

4 replies »

  1. Beautifully introspective. I was chilled by “We shift and stay the same. We lose ourselves without realising and become those ghosts our grandparents told us about in whispered stories as they tucked us into bed on sleepovers during the holidays.” Something so close to home there that I have trying so hard to fight, to resist.

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