A Moth to the Flame


There are these doors, and as I stand here deciding which one to step through, the strangest feeling washes over me. It’s as if I’ve been here before. This crossroads. This juncture. It’s like I’m going over the same ground, and once again I’m faced with the same decision. Which door do I open? I’ve seen so many versions of myself behind these doors. I’ve travelled the length and breadth of my life. I’ve fucked untold ghosts, stabbed myself in the neck at the sight of all the mistakes I’ve made and have lost myself for unspecified periods of time in her embrace and the warm glow of candlelight. I’m not the man I used to be, and yet I’ve always been here. At this place. In this skin. I’m a stranger. An abstraction, and yet my voice is clear and my vision resolute. Things change, and yet we remain the same. The past becomes the present, and the future becomes the past. On rivers, we float, through mirrors, we distort, and yet even though flesh ages and minds crumble, we’ve already been here. This has already happened. Which door? Which version? Future or past? In truth, there’s only one door. It’s the same door for us all. There are no choices. The choices have been made. It’s up to us to understand why we make them, and it’s up to us to have the guts to keep going knowing full well the oblivion that awaits. Smoking my cigarette, I approach the door closest to me and look over my shoulder at the animals as they watch from afar. They’ve been with me for so long now, as long as she has. And she, this other, this muse. She’s been with me every step of the way, and like I, she’s become an abstraction. A changing entity with every story I’ve written, and yet she too remains untouched. Through this door, I can hear her song, and even though there’s no telling I’ll ever find her, I know I’d do it all again. From somewhere ahead, I can hear her calling my name, and without pausing, I step through the door. They’ll be heartbreak for sure. Another lifetime of lows to go with those already suffered, and yet I’ve glimpsed enough beauty and tenderness in this life to show me it’s worth it. And her song. It shimmers the same as it always has, and even though it’s left me on the brink of madness, and even though it will continue to do so for as long as I have left, it’s her song I follow. Like a moth to the flame, her magic is where I’m drawn.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com

23 replies »

  1. “…and yet I’ve glimpsed enough beauty and tenderness in this life to show me it’s worth it.”
    This capacity to love and to love when there’s less hope, is inspiring to me. It’s how I feel most of the time and is why I don’t regret one single relationship I’ve had and lost. ❀

    • It is inspiring, isn’t it? Those that don’t hold on to the capacity to love die inside, and their lives are as hollow as an empty Coke can.

      It makes me smile knowing you share the same views, and that no matter what, you never let the sadness overwhelm you ❀

      • I never let the sadness overhwhelm me! Shit, that’s true. Thank you for pointing that out haha. I used to, you know. I just got pig-sick of being a miserable old bag. x

  2. Sounds S.K in Wonderland. I’ve not had a cigarette in 15 days. I have quit. Via my Doctors orders.

  3. This is stunning…and almost Proustian, but not in a stuffy way…just legitimately ephemeral. You always take me out of time with your words. This is no exception. It’s so incredibly soulful. ❀️

  4. Your words evoke such a feeling……all of those doors. Yes, I can relate. You wrote it all so well and it’s so real and painful and beautiful and you made it exactly that with your words.

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