Author S. K. Nicholas

The sound of wind chimes comes to me through the window and for some reason I’m not sure of, I feel so desperately sad. Closing my eyes, I see her dancing in a void, and the delicate beauty of it is reminiscent of the sensation of a moth’s wings tickling the insides of my clasped hands. She reaches out. She collapses. She comes back into bloom like it were nothing. Sometimes she scratches and when I prise open my fingers she’s not there and neither is the moth but the void is still nearby and as the wind chimes chime and the branches of the trees call my name she’s still with me like the banshee she is. The days are long and the sky mostly empty and the hours consist of mundane work and memories of childhood and the lingering taste of her lips and the words they force me to write and the subtle humming of ghosts that watch me in my attempts at finding the right words to fit these feelings that come and go without warning. Sinking my head beneath the soapy surface of hot water, it’s like I too am in the void. It doesn’t last long, but for a few seconds, there’s no need for anything other than the visions in my head and the emotions that captivate me in their strange ways before they leave me unable to fathom yet again what it means to be human. Sometimes I get so morose that nothing shakes me out of my funk. Sometimes I don’t do anything but lie in bed all day thinking about dying and how half of me is terrified about not existing while the other is secretly looking forward to what happens next.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US