Author S. K. Nicholas

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 Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com