This town was once underwater, and that’s where it should’ve remained. But against better judgement, it rose from those timeless, murky waters and now people gather around and dance upon the fossilised remains of their aquatic ancestors. They dance to popular music and believe in popular dreams. They exist without knowing, and to exist without knowing is like not existing at all. But I keep such views to myself, lest I wish to be cast adrift like a thief or beggar in the night. Walking among the chalk of the quarry, I crouch down and run my fingers over the dusty white stuff that boils beneath my touch. One day, I shall be just as lifeless, but right here in this moment, I spark. In this weird little bubble of mine, I give myself to madness, and like the lips of a lover, it takes me outside of time. Inspecting the grains of dust that cling to my fingers, it’s as if all the answers I ever sought were right there, as naked as the flame. Head throbbing and heart pounding, I bring the dust to my lips and taste what it has to give. To anyone who happens to be looking, I’m just a guy doing up his shoelaces, but that’s not how it is at all. Closing my eyes as the chalk mixes with my saliva, I swallow in one big gulp, and just like that, I exist in all places. Time is no time, and loss is as beautiful as love. Getting to my feet, I open my mouth, and the sigh that escapes it is as beautiful as the music of the stars.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com