Dear Cathy



A tattered copy of ‘Salem’s Lot to ward off boredom on dreary car rides that stretch from city to sea. A collection of Polaroids detailing my state of mental decline between relationship B and relationship D. Those bus journeys that wormed their way through the local towns and villages, and those women who pulled me in with the merest suggestion of sideboob, they’re all too numerous to mention. Nipples as sandcastles, and sandcastles as mirages dotted around random months of sobriety that have a habit of losing their charm way too soon. Never trust someone who doesn’t enjoy a drink, and never waste your time on those who go out of the way to tell others how happy they are. Not only are they liars, but they’ll chew you up and spit you out quicker than a pube lodged down the back of a gagging throat. Being lost in the woods is a beautiful thing. It takes you places that can never be described. It might cause pain, and you can be gone for years, but the things you’ll see will be worth their weight in gold. Those luscious lips. Those brunette curls. Take a drag on your cigarette and imagine what it would be like to kiss the lips of the one who’s been creeping beneath your skin for so long. With every written word, their vision wraps around yours until you find yourself unable to breathe when confronted with the stark truth of what lurks behind such useless skin. Take a train downtown and kiss the paintings you worshipped in your youth. Kiss the gravestones of a hundred unknown Cockneys whose lives were cut short by the plague ended by the fire on Pudding Lane. In Mitre Square, wait until it’s dark and speak with the shadowy entity of Jack the Ripper. Let him know that despite what they say, you will always care. Sink to your knees and place a letter on the spot where he killed Catherine Eddowes, and as the rain flattens your delicate hair, do your best to hold back those tears. The pieces will never fit, but there will always be moments in your life that make sense no matter how small or out of reach. The trick is to never give up on them, even if others tell you it’s all just a stab in the dark.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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