The scents of twilight seductively bloom Sun soaked treasures become talismans of the moon An orchid once as fair as snow Cursed to mutate, until ebony petals waft to and fro Under a metallic glow shaped like a crescent Flies a bat, strikingly effervescent Lusting for a bite, he drops to a walk Dark and brooding, his prey he does stalk
The final embers of the setting sun took cover behind dense clouds, dispelling a grey veil across the horizon, erasing any remnants of colour and warmth. Waves lapped voraciously at a modest, wooden vessel as though the navy depths were famished. And although the hours progressed, her hunger never ceased. Each swell ascended, leaping into the airs embrace, then proceeded to crash back into abyss, in an exquisite choreographed cycle. As beautiful as this spectacle of nature was, a peculiar, melancholic tinge weighed on the atmosphere, like an anchor itself.
On the deck of the boat stood a withered man, whose youth had escaped him prematurely. Stray stands of grey were speckled across his angular face. Like sparse, silver shards, they emphasised his cutting temperament. His eyes, though warm like honey, possessed a dissonance that evoked pity from all who locked their gaze upon his own. He adorned muted rags, tattered and moth-eaten, baring spots of sallow skin that glowed ivory in the present twilight hour.
He drew in the salty air and observed the wispy exhale that escaped his sullen mouth, dancing before him like a pearl-coloured fairy. As he watched it fade, he was overcome by a sudden craving for a smoke, which gradually became insatiable. After fumbling through his hole-ridden pockets, he placed a cigarette between his lips and began flicking the rusted spark wheel on a lighter. His trembling, skeletal fingers only delaying his desired gratification. Finally, a reddish flame burst to life from the hood of the contraption, rupturing the sudden stillness that had settled upon the sea. It was in that moment, the man had become disturbingly aware of the eerie gloom that possessed the ether. He became involuntarily unsettled, as though a sixth sense had been revived and was forewarning of imminent peril.
He had heard folklore and tales of the creature that walked the seabed, in fact his mother had recited such stories to him as a young boy. However, with age and a crafted arrogance, he dismissed such tellings and coined them “chronicles of the simple”.
The boat began to creak incrementally, as though imitating a metronome. The frail gentleman, edged towards one side, furtively yearning - for the first time in a long time - for company. Although he had always taken respite in solitude, in this very instance, it provided no solace.
His knuckles turned ashen as he gripped the gunwale, before averting his gaze downwards at the inky water. Albeit general visibility had become obscure as the night had settled, it was conspicuously evident that a shadow lurked below. He jolted upright, pressed his eyes shut, and shook his head. “It must have been a trick of the light” he uttered. “A trick of the light is all, nothing more.” Before he could catch his breath, a rapid gust threw the man across the deck without warning. A towering silhouette surged from the waves engulfing him, like a mere morsel.
Just as fleeting as the action was, it ended all the same. Leaving behind nothing besides an abandoned watercraft, a waning stub of a cigarette, and a horrifyingly unsolved enigma.
Your radiance is coveted, yet manifests on every face Cloaking everything in a delicate layer of golden lace Rising even before the first birdsong of the day Brimming with spirit, careless but elegant you sway
Leaning against walls, sitting picturesque on an old chair Each room drips with remnants of you, so pure, so fair You enkindle a familiar warmth, with the slightest touch If only you knew how people crave to stay, enclasped in your clutch.
Such as a rose that never came to bloom, Or a lily who’s petals shriveled too soon From a sacred chamber, to a desolate cave Fragmented memories, it does enslave Bonded by soul, never by flesh, To know if you have my eyes, I can never attest The sky full of stars seemed dead and cold; A place once so magical, now hurt to behold
She blushes like a wildflower whenever somebody compliments her. But hates it when she’s gifted flowers. She’s always looking for faces in the remnants of coffee at the bottom of her cup. And she’s always searching for stories in the eyes of everyone she meets. She habitually makes sure to sit in the spots of sun that spill into a room, afraid that the shadows conspire to steal her content. But she loves the dark and all the solitude it offers. She considers herself an unconventional romantic, but she’s a fool for conventional romance. She’s selective with who she tells her story to, But they’ll all say the same, “She’s not who she says she is”.
When the wind whispers so delicately into the ear of an intoxicated lover, It is as though the symphonies of the heavens have elevated the feeble mortal senses. They dance like a fool amidst the blinded skeptics, Existing in an oasis of bliss where the soul feels liberated. Minutes collapse into hours and hours into days, As the skies transcend from the cooling veil of dusk, to the burning canopy of dawn. But no concept of time or space is ever too great, to awaken the one who is truly awake.
It’s always the colder months spent here in England that make me particularly miss the sweet caress of the Italian sun. Watching flecks of gold and auburn dance upon a bed of sapphire crystals. Surrounded by an enclosure of mountains that look almost too picturesque to really be there. As though they are mere paintings, carefully placed to enhance the beautiful illusion.
There are many things I miss about that place. I miss its unrefined, yet captivating beauty. I miss the romantically historic charm of cobbled streets. I miss the scent of pine and fresh rosemary wafting through the tepid air. But most of all, I miss the break of dawn. Crisp air and dew soaked gardens bring forth the fluorescence of a green spectrum that is later consumed, when the mighty sun reaches its pique and bestows its amber hues across the horizon on those scorching summer days.
Those fleeting moments of coolness, when the morning air offers kisses of soothing sentiments, are the perfect accompaniment to a freshly brewed pot of earl grey tea and an array of delicate pastries and sweet, hand picked peaches. The aromas of bergamot and fresh lemon complimenting the al fresco breakfast setting overlooking the blue - but far from solemn looking - waters that stretch to the edges of the mountain fences. Those blue swatches that look as though they are inviting you to come and bathe the day away, making you feel as careless, calm and as free as the waves themselves.
Light drenched the museum in precise increments, draped like cream voile between grand arches of carved stone. My eyes followed the general movement in the room, observing each curious mind. Inspired sketching artists, tracing sculptures of flawless physiques onto blank sheets. Tourists doting over gold-framed paintings. Inquisitive children, saturated with wonder over the grandeur of the room itself. When suddenly, my gaze rested upon a case in the far right corner of the gallery. Although I was unable to fully discern what was illumined in the case, I was unduly drawn to the undisclosed item. Like a moth to a flame, I found myself making my way over to the beacon.
My eyes studied the scroll in the glass case, examining each crevice of the sand-tinged parchment. The striking illustrations in azure, gold, emerald and wine, depicting scenes from a previous epoch, felt somewhat familiar. It was as though I was having an intense case of deja vu. The ebony calligraphy, at first mere etchings, suddenly began to reveal sentences that I could decipher with unsettling ease. I gulped as I digested each sentence of this ancient, dead language, as each word was exhumed in my mind. Unable to deter my focus, but terrified all the same.
Amongst the room of all those curious minds, why was I the only one who seemed to have any interest in this artefact? More importantly, why was I able to assimilate each expression of the harrowing curse etched onto the scroll…?
The past few weeks, perhaps even months, Damon had been thinking endlessly about her. The ruminating was enough to induce lunacy. He was possessed with all the feelings that came with a blossoming romance in its preliminary stages, however he hadn’t felt anything of this magnitude before. This time, he was thirsting for her company. Longing to see how she grinned at his comedic charm, with petal-like lips ever so slightly parted. How she spoke his name, elevating each syllable into a poetic melody. The way she brushed her fingers through waves of jet black hair. Effortlessly beautiful, without even knowing it.
Uncharacteristically, the moment they were alone, Damon lost all sense of his renowned nonchalant composure. As they sat at a table across from each other in the low lit bar, he found his gaze shying away from hers. “Have you enjoyed tonight?” She questioned. He felt heat rising to his cheeks and was sure they were flushed crimson, as he realized she could most likely sense his awkwardness. Without meeting her eyes, he replied “Yeah, I have. Have you?” After a few moments of sparse small talk, he was roused from his timid apprehension, prompted by his inability to quiet his thoughts about her. He reached across the wooden table and placed his hand upon hers, causing her to look at him even more intently than before. “I have to tell you something” he started, feeling the words charging out of him at an unruly pace. “I know that if I don’t say it, I will regret it forever. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know how I’ve managed to contain it for so long”. He paused, closed his eyes and proceeded, “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been in love with you for what feels like an eternity and I know it’s insane and I know I’m putting you in the worst position by telling you, but I just couldn’t go another day, another second without you knowing.” He observed her expression. Her eyes welled and her lips quivered, but before the words could manifest themselves, they were interrupted. “Here we go guys. They ran out of the beer you wanted on tap, so I got you this one. Is that okay?” Damon gazed up and nodded as the drinks were laid out in front of them. He watched his brother as he pulled up his chair and kissed his fiancé on the cheek.
Damon questioned whether he had done the right thing in confessing his affections. More than anything, he questioned whether he would ever get to hear her response…
