I'm riding a comet through the space that fills the rift betwen the love in our world...

There is a desire for the soul to be loved. It stems from the very core of when we are forming as foeti in the womb. It’s part of the instinct that stays with us for the rest of our lives, it’s part of the very thing that our mothers gave us during pregnancy that we have kept and cherished and abused and lost and gained and cried about. But the desire for the soul to be loved is filled also with a desire for the soul to be filled with that feeling of joy, the one that is inextricably linked with happiness down to your very soul. The two are different, just like pleasure of the flesh is different to pleasure of the heart, just like falling in love and lusting are completely separate and different experiences. The two might occur simultaneously of course, but they are still different and in any case as simultaneous as they seem they are always out of sync. They always occur at different times even if it within the microsecond between a blink and a tear, between the breath that gets caught in your throat when you hiccup and the time it takes to realise that your breathing has continued as normal.

And this microsecond.

It’s like the unexplainable absence of time when you sleep. Like the moment you wake up and realise that several hours have past and you didn’t realise. And it leaves you horrified, it leaves you with the feeling that you shouldn’t have been sleeping in the first place, that you shouldn’t be attempting anything other than living your life to the full, that something deep within your psyche is holding you back to the extent where you will never become famous and never become what you always told yourself that you were going to be. Never writing that novel, never recording that c.d., never finding that little niche into which you place yourself and make a career.

It’s not as miserable as you would think though.

There’s a certain beauty about the way it works.

The way you suddenly notice that you’ve fallen for the one you lusted after for so long.

The way the desires of your very flesh take control and you are guided not by your genitals, not by your head, not even by your heart, but by the very ether of your being, the very thing that makes you who you are, the very blood running through your veins, the very skin that hold together your bones, the inner life-force that runs through your entire nervous system.

You’re just a shooting star in my life, a roller-coaster that I immediately regretted riding, but I had to ride and ride I did, and after the first big plunge, leaving my stomach at the top, I started to enjoy it, my heart starting to beat fast, the adrenalin starting to pump through my veins, the beauty of the view from where we lay, enveloped in each other’s arms, starting to open itself up to me, starting to show itself through the grey haze that had begun to hang around me like a bad smell.

At some point, like a shooting star, what we have will have to explode with an energy greater than that of the sun, bursting forth into the very fabric of time and space, filling the universe around us with our song our unbridled passion screaming towards the heavens, killing the pain ‘twixt the cradle and the grave.

‘Till then though we will ride the roller-coaster, we will strap ourselves in, grab hold of each other’s hands, knock back a few strong drinks and fly, use our senses to catapult us half-way to the other side of space, following the line of the universe as it expands and expands and expands, dodging the black-holes and misplaced stars, singing our erroneous heart-break to non but the very people who decided to place upon us the burden of life, to the very people who decided that we were strong enough to fight, that we were strong enough to cope with the pressures of being something more than a thought in a dream, a winkle in an eye, a spark of something down a neurone, across a synapse, and into the deepest darkest parts of the human mind.

We will sing with fervour.

A fervour that has been told in stories as impossible to replicate.

A fervour that would make people laugh and smile and dance and feel gleeful were it not for the simple fact that they do not believe that such happiness ever existed in anything more than fairytales.

And so there our story will end.

Our voices suddenly cutting out mid-song.

The length of the reverberations and echoes only comparable to the volume at which we sing in the first place.

So let us sing.

Let us dance.

Let us run.

Let us live like tomorrow never even existed in our minds.

Never even existed in our memories.

Never even existed.

xx

Song of the day: The Temper Trap - Sweet Disposition or Thom Yorke - The Eraser

Quote of the day: A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants - Bob Dylan and Generosity if giving more than you can, pride is taking less than you need - Kahlil Gibran