The Gateway



On a night like any other, here I am with my head full of thoughts that just don’t know when to quit. In a time that has never tasted a moment of genuine bliss, here I am yet again pouring out as much as I can in the hope of salvation when the end feels so prevalent. I’ve written about so many dances over the years, of which there have been so many hapless endeavours, and yet there can only be one, can’t there? These words of mine. These bullets I shoot. They are a thrust of my hips and a kiss from chapped lips that have spoken far too much useless shit. I asked a question some time ago- who was that guy? It still sticks with me. That man I became for several years. That apathetic and distant soul who had no need to express nor confront. Really, who was he? Was it all down to Sarah and I losing Bethany? Was it my inability to express the grief of our loss that made me turn my back on the world? Or was it that the older I grew, the more I tried to hide away from the evils that confronted me everywhere I turned? What can be said is that there was a time when the faith within me drifted away. It didn’t disappear completely, but it left me hanging, and for a while, I wasn’t sure what would happen at all. There was no urge to write. No need to express myself and tell others the contents of my heart. There was only distance. But here I am. Here we all are doing our best to make this thing work in the face of such cruel adversity. It’s not poetry, and it’s not wonder. It’s just a natural human reaction at wanting to love and to be loved in return. It’s about not wanting to fade away without saying what needs to be said first. Each expressed thought, an attempt to make amends for that which has been lost. Each and every word, a way of paying homage to the past while celebrating those we hold near.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

32 replies »

  1. I swear I’m not following Aaron around. This is a weird little vortex he and I are in. Apparently on the same exact reading schedule. *creepy* 🙂

    The vulnerability you show is as beautiful as anything I’ve seen or read here.

    You (he) went away for a while….but you (or he is) are fighting your way back. Without knowing you that well, I apologize if I don’t get the pronouns right.

    There is a passion in you that, through your words, fuels hearts, minds, and yes, even passions in others. It’s a gift, so maybe there is a little bit of good that can come from such unimaginable loss. ❤︎

    • Thank you for such a touching comment. It means a great deal to me that you took the time in sharing it. It’s heart-warming that you find my writing to be of integrity, and it makes me happy in knowing you believe there to be passion within it. I think hope and faith can spring from any form of loss. It’s not always pretty, and it’s not always quick, but the potential is there. I hope I can continue to make good ❤

  2. If this is in any way autobiographical, I am so, so sorry. I know how you feel, and that’s not a figurative statement, my friend.

    • Thank you very much, Anna. I’m so pleased it moved you. It’s strange for me to now consider that time of my life when there were no words. To contemplate that period when my emotions were firmly subdued and unable to breathe. But breathe they now do x

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