Love. Grief. Hurt.
They’re only to be expected; the cynical nature of one only demands the presence of the other, naturally occurring like the notion of breathing.
Shards of red, blue, black, swirling faintly in the air until they explode into a canvas of sharp edges and roughed textures. A canvas of life and death revolving around a single concept that can never be touched but only touched upon. The sun of all life form: demanding to be seen but never explored. Love is a synonym, defined by is lack of definition. Entwined into all existence – naturally occurring.
Love is gravity, defined by the force it brings people together. Hurtling at a thousand miles per hour along an open road surrounded by nothing but fields of dull horizons, head first. A rocket launch. Sparks exploding into fragmented flames and light simultaneously, the shrinking ship swallowed up into an unexplored universe, black like death.
Hiding in the depths of a lover’s hand or soft caress lie the sharp edge of its sweet kick. Sweet like sugar. Sugar: addictive like cocaine. Fuel me. Love me. Control me. Black from love.
But once the rocket has landed on a planet far from your own and there is nothing left but still dust with jagged rocks and the distant memory of home, the air disappears leaving with you with only an artificial replacement which demands effort to be consumed.
Heaving. A spacesuit creating space between you and the familiar unknown.
Alone. Dust remains settled in an airless atmosphere, no hope of escape. Motionless.
Just another dot hidden in darkness.
Searching, slowly, for the escape button. Parachute, eject – destroyed upon landing. Love is space: silent.
But still I enjoy the view.
Words by Juliette Rowsell