there is comfort in clean sheets and the promise of “a good night’s sleep”. the allure of cool, crisp cotton beckons. the black ink of night fuels my scribe as i scratch across cheap paper in the dim of my lonely room. writing a song, in the dark, with a 5-string guitar, is cathartic. but there are too many distractions. my thoughts resolve back to the dead fox cub on the Standing Stanes Road and i sob, my arms wrapped around Julio*, my shoulders shaking. outside, the street lights shine like beacons for breaking hearts, insomniacs, poets and moths. someone is yelling. God knows what, but it’s 4.42am and the streets are already wet. the atonal hum of summer rain sounds like a song for the hopeless or a psalm for the loveless. a burgeoning hope, that tomorrow will be a brighter day. the sea sounds so far away; weak, and diluted by this new precipitation. this time of calm is stirred by an itch in my [open] left palm. and, a ringing in my ears breaks my thoughts in Fmaj7. i play along. words fold and unfold and float by me, like soggy paper boats in my own sea of rambling. i lay down and strum. sleep will come, easily. songs often manifest in my dreams. there are six planets on their rise, elliptical. they are all visible with the naked eye, if you know where to look. i close my eyes, put down the pen and close my book. i hold on tight to Julio, in the absurd hope that he will sing me to sleep, as i pluck strings in harmony with the gentle peal of the wind chime above my head, as the palest breeze waxes lyrical.
[i don’t remember falling asleep, but i guess i must’ve………………….]
5 hours later, i find myself awake and Julio still asleep on the bed beside me. quiet. there is paper and guitar picks everywhere. my thoughts resolve to my lover, along the coast; i can still smell his scent in the tangled mess of my hair.
(c) Kat McDonald 2016
-for Robert – with you, i never feel loveless. i love you, like i was born to.