Starry Night


As I’m standing by the side of the road lighting a cigarette, she’s floating through the sky looking at life below as if it were some alien landscape of which she’d never stepped foot. Her laughter tickles this jaded heart of mine, and the music coming from inside of her tells me there’s something more to this life after all, something I can’t quite put my finger on and yet of which I’m sure exists just beyond my grasp. From childhood bliss comes the dying days of adulthood, and years turn into decades and magic fades, but only if you allow it to. If you believe that this life isn’t just about dollars and cents and social games of snakes and ladders, you too can fly, and as she drifts through the clouds calling out my name, the magic of her song denies time and the inevitability of my very human demise. Because despite not wanting to be, I’m human whether I like it or not, and yet these words and her spirit take me someplace else. They transform me from mere flesh and bone into an orb roaming about just like her. Blowing out a lungful of smoke, I picture her up high, spreading her arms as if they were the wings of some great eagle with a look on her face of such childlike wonder. I find myself swaying, and as the traffic shoots through these mundane streets like blood through tightened veins, my place here among the insects doesn’t seem so much of a drag after all. Flicking my cigarette into the gutter, I call out for her to come find me, and when I close my eyes, her music grows louder as do the cries of the animals as they sense the one they call their own coming closer through the darkened skies of this cold and starry night.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US

10 replies »

  1. Sometimes, the magic of childhood dies, because it was, taken from you, and sometimes, it takes, longer, like the majority of our whole lives, to finally, find it back again…

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