The humid weather stole the breath from my lungs as I slept. The night is a thief. It’s always been a thief. It steals my shit yet I always go back for more. The second I woke, morning strangled the life out of me as sweat poured from my body. I was all prone, like Jesus or something. Saturday is a day of liberty for most, but to me, I’m bound in chains. To serve. To be docile. The heat in the air gives nothing away. It clings, stings, then worms its way inside, leaching these bones of anything worth keeping. Stumbling through deserted streets, there’s not another soul in sight. Well, there is, but there isn’t. Trees bend in the wind without sound. Mouths move, yet the words they puke don’t reach me as I’ve long since learned to listen only to that which speaks what I want to hear. The soundtrack in my head is a reel of memories. My time at university. The unconditional love of my grandparents. The sports equipment shed situated on the grounds of my old junior school, and the many ghosts that resided within. They swirl like the smoke snorting through my nostrils along with the perfume of ex-lovers. They aren’t real, yet the more I think about them, the more they help me understand that my path through life was never meant to be confined to the here and now, but to whatever plane suits my greedy, make-believe needs.

X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon UK

X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon US