We saunter blithely through this endless space, Where we have no right to be. Collecting cluttered, contradictory noises, That in some Utopia might be cohesive. Choice. The outcome of bad decisions. Imagination, inexorably stretching reality to what might be. Questioning what we think is right? From chaos, should there be order? …
Tired, aching and lonely, staring forlornly out of the grey window pane, watching the rain batter the glass on this bleak, forbidding day; he realised that it was his most fundamental task, and the most powerful gift, to be able to create life, summon the sun and banish darkness, if only for the briefest moment…
Remember that time when they lost it? You reeled from their onslaught and had to stop reacting with resentment? You had to tell yourself that it said more about their state of mind that it did yours, that it was a reflection of where they were, not of where you are? Surely this is the…
Is it the critic who counts? Pointing out where the doer of deeds could have done them better? Or the one who is in the arena? Face marred by dust, sweat and blood, striving valiantly, coming up short again and again? Because, truly, to strive to do the deeds with great enthusiasm and great devotion…
Fear? Acid coursing through my veins and somehow pooling into the pit of my stomach. Muscles, electric but yet dead weight across my back, my neck rigid, locked into place. I dare not move my face. No twitch, nothing that could betray me. I cannot let it leak from my eyes. But at the same…
When you make a choice unilaterally, it is forgivable to think: ‘No-one will care.’ When you decided to leave early that night, without saying goodbye, I am sure you thought; ‘No-one will miss me.’ You won’t remember, as I do, that we promised to be in this together, forever. But then you decided to leave…
“The corridor is very dark,” he said, candlelight flickering on his face, “and festooned with thick cobwebs.” I looked nervously to my companion. “Do you see anything down there?” “Impossible to see further than about 10 feet.” Came the terse reply. “It’ll be just my luck that this place is crawling with spiders.” I murmured….
“I just don’t know if I’m ready.” I said, lighting a cigarette. “No-one likes to live with a smoker.” She grimaced. Waving the blue cloud away from her. “Moving in together is a big step. How do you if know she’s ready?” It started to rain. “I’m a delight.” I coughed. “Except for the smoking.”…
Lightning, tearing through the night. My sight is overwhelmed, suddenly, briefly. I should be afraid, but oddly, I’m not. I look at her, she returns my gaze. ‘I don’t like this,’ she looks at me, ‘take me home.’ But we can’t. Not yet. There are things we must do. She shivers. Another bolt sears through…
