l\\\'amour interdit

It is not until night overcomes us, the cold, unforgiving night, that it becomes clear. By your side, we are a hair’s width apart, but you are not there. Not really anyway. Enclosed by a blanket of sleep, tucked up so tightly I think you may never wake, never return to me. But why would you? As I lay, reality starts to make itself scarce, I dissolve into the vacuum of my mind; but my goodness it is crowded here. Consecutive tangents of how I picture my life in a year or two or three’s time. Where will I be? Will I still lay beside your dreaming body? Perhaps not. After all, there will almost certainly be another. Won’t there?

This is what our 20s are all about. Aren’t they? ‘To find oneself’ they say.

But how could I ever find myself if it is you I am in eternal pursuit of?

Who are you? Are you my friend? My Lover?

Neither?

Our generation has become numb, a place of extraordinary banality. One will feel condemned for even thinking of love.

Forbidden love

     Silent love

Lonely love.