The clumsy clanging of the carousel was starting to make me feel remarkably nauseous. Alongside the cacophony of inquisitive children, endless snippets of conversation seemed to drift and ride on the back of a humid breeze in and out of my ears. The sprinkling and splashing of the fountain, refreshing and hydrating my senses as if a hundred year curse had just been lifted, freeing me from an eternal thirst.
I quite often sit here alone - but how nice would it be if I was truly alone in this magnificent garden instead of feeling trapped, suffocating within a brimming petridish.
The awesome presence of the ancient castle looming over our little menagerie, casting an ominous shadow over the blossoming trees and gothic church, is enough to send me into delirium.
I wander over to the graveyard and muse over the mossy tombstones and crumbling mausoleums. 'Meet me at the cemetery gates' playing in my head, only I don’t have anyone to meet. A date with the dead, how comforting. I pick a handful of flowers and place them in front of a head stone marked 'Little baby James -3rd October 1839 - 19th November 1839. Matthew 1835 -1839. Jane 1832 - 1839.' They had died in a fire. How young and vulnerable they had been. I wondered how long it took for people to eventually lose interest in them. How long had it been since the cracked soil had sprouted a newly planted memorial seed? How long had they been forgotten? It pains me to think of a child snatched from the arms of the world, from their mothers loving breast. How could a mother ever regain happiness when her world has gone, lost forever amongst overgrown weeds and overcrowded catacombs?
The first drops of rain fell on my cheeks disturbing my peace. I was done with philosophising so I walked home in the rain. Tomorrow would be same old same old tomorrow, same routine, same boredom eating
away at my short life like a maggot boring through a rotten apple.
Feels a bit like that in here tonight - don'tyathink?
And no stone shall be left unturned...
The optimist sniffed, feeling the night air rush trhrough her in a medley of sensationsemotionsscentstouchsounds and thought that maybe she was wrong. You see, when I think about tonight, and this general mishmash off occourances, and its the seventeenth of November and all I can think is that the wind is changing, and I cant fight the adreneline/excitement that pours out of me. Favourable winds for voyages to arcadia? Who knows, but the possibility seeps out of my every pore.
i woke up on a lazy summers morning after an awesome party with a huge smile on my face to the sweet sounds of up the bracket and the lovely smells of scrambled eggs on toast. thats the first time i had ever heard of the libertines and it changed my life forever