Vagabonds

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Kissing through wet hair, the night makes fools of us all as we declare our love not even knowing the meaning of the word. But we will. It happens to us all. We grow up. We fuck up. Some learn, while most just repeat and rinse until they drop after a lifetime of convincing themselves they were somehow right. There is little meaning to any of this. We’re told to follow our hearts but our hearts are ruled by our brains and our brains are riddled with the woodworm of modern life. And modern life is rubbish. It has no pulse. It tries to say otherwise, and yet we all know it’s full of shit. Kissing through wet hair, these fingers tease your nipples and yeah I’m far too clumsy but these emotions are pure and that’s what matters and the taste of rain on your tongue outweighs everything. The way the mist clings to the fields we walk through searching for answers. The way the alcohol we drink stings our teeth as we move from bar to bar not caring about the adult world’s obsession with tomorrow. How these things give us a chance to escape this wretched lot, and yet how many times do we find ourselves getting sucked into the days we are never promised? Such promises. Such sweet, little lies. You’d have thought after all this time that we would know better. That we would have more sense. And yet as painful as our mistakes may be, they shine just like everything else. Vengeful spirits. Delicious kicks. Ghosts that haunt our bones, and souls without a home. Let us make love and taste them all. Let us be at one until we can speak without the need to pretend we are anything but the vagabonds we are.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

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