Bright Young Things



Getting dressed, we leave the house and you lead me on a merry dance through the nearby woods. After what feels like an age, you sit me down on the trunk of a fallen tree far from the prying eyes of others, and when you kiss me, the sadness in my bones slips away as if it wasn’t even there to begin with. When you take my hand and place it beneath your top, I smile as I sense the beat of your heart, and as my fingers caress what you are, it feels like I’m more natural than God. Lost in the clouds, I see crows flying above a field of corn and I think of Van Gogh and how he shot himself in the stomach and died a lonely death and such a thing makes me forgive you no matter how much pain you bring. Sighing as your nipples feel so hard under my thumbs, I breathe in the scent of damp leaves and wet soil and see myself as a child on a school trip to Tring Museum. It was the time I accidentally threw my money away along with the remains of my packed lunch. The teacher guiding our group had to stick his hand into a bin and get it back for me. He wasn’t impressed, but no way was I gonna lose two pounds that could be spent on novelty pencils and transparent bouncy balls with small plastic animals inside. Would’ve put my own hand in the bin, but, y’know, they weren’t long enough or something. Sensing I’ve drifted someplace else, you sink your teeth into my nose and bring me back. Wrapping my arms around you, I try lifting you up in some great romantic gesture, but instead, I fall over and land on top of you. In a heap, I writhe around making sure you’re okay. You are, but you’re not happy, but then here we are, and amidst the dead leaves and insects, the look that passes between us is enough to get a grin out of you. And a grin is all it takes. Hours pass, but we wouldn’t know about that, for all we know of is our hiding place where we exist not caring about a single thing. It rains then grows dark. It gets so quiet as the rest of the world slips far from our grasp, but here we still are, hand in hand while looking up at the stars.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on

8 replies »

  1. Yes, bouncy balls. Such pleasure from something so small – and how devastating it was when they bounced away never to be found.

    Besides the trip down memory lane, this piece spoke to me on many levels, but I can’t think of anything to say apart from that it’s beautiful. No doubt I’ll wish I’d said more later, but it’s later now and nothin’s in there. Loved this and all the imagery. Beautiful. x

    • Thank you, Allane.

      The thrill of those bouncy balls for a kid is something that can never be just described. It has to be experienced. I still have a few knocking around in drawers and boxes. Maybe one rainy day when I’ve got writer’s block, I’ll seek them out.

      I’m so pleased you enjoyed this piece x

  2. Sounds amazing, that you’d found that sense of intimacy you’d longed for in someone you care deeply about, a connection to someone like that is very difficult to find, especially in this day and age, when there are, so many of those who haven’t had the honest intentions in thier minds…

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