Nightly you lure me with your false beauty.
You dance before me, unhurried and unaware of your infatuated observer. Occasionally you are hidden by mystified air – but this only heightens my intrigue.
Captivated with the breathlessness of a mourning lover, I await your presence as I stare deeply into the otherwise dark abyss. A nothingness that is forever away yet painfully close.
And there you are. Rising like a siren – calling across that empty space to me and me alone.
I suppose we both know that this isn’t true. And time, as ever, provides the answer.
As night passes to day, I escape the black to where light shines anew and your truth is spelled out to me.
You offer me no light of your own, no substance of yourself.
You are an imagination.
Occasionally I feel that we have proclaimed our modern age to be the pinnacle of all there ever was and all there ever will be. That all who came before us were ignorants and anything to come in the future will be eaten by zombies.
Essentially, I feel that we have been conditioned to believe that only two things can kill us.
1: Too many drugs.
2: Not enough drugs.
In the wind and rain you stand – facing ever outward at the vastness of colour and time.
Against all chance, probability and sense.
You have a million dollar view but you had no say in the matter. Careless of your own dreams, desires of companionship, you give all of your being to guiding the way for others.
Strangers who would never thank you – nor would they ever consider the gesture.