I am lost in this slow unfolding of a dry and dusty life. I dream of blazing starlight, of fires and last stands, of the easy knife-edge choices, of life or death, of love and passion without consequence.
But here, in this twilight zone, in this dusty unravelled world, where there is nothing left but consequences, where all those knife-edge dramas left a wake of complex misery that beats like a drum through the decades.
The truth, my love, is that I never deserved you. That your bright-light whirlwind illuminated me, but I never found how to glow from within. I am faded, and old – forever and always old, but I wore your youth and beauty for a while.
These days tick slowly by, and everything I was runs through my grasp. Long nights of driving through the darkness in a bubble of music, the fevered lusts that ran backwards through my finger-tips, the fantastical land that I wove between the silences you left for me.
Now, now, I am too tired to dream, those aching sorrows have left me empty and dry, immune to those knife-edge dramas. I watch the sun bleed away, and allow everything to unravel.
It is forgotten.