DESPERATE.

I get desperate.

I feel life slipping away.

Really, I do.

In the quiet moments.

And it’s so very sad.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

Drama.

There’s no drama.

Just sadness.

Because it’s real.

The desperation.

And sometimes.

These thoughts makes me close my eyes.

And keep them closed.

And I close them so slowly.

I close them so gently, that.

I actually feel my eyelids kiss.

And I hear myself sigh.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

1983.

I get desperate for that time in the hot summer of 1983.

When that 17 year old girl whose family were visiting my friend, Darren’s family.

Walked slowly across the cricket pitch towards the 15 year old me.

And she spoke so quietly.

And so close to my face that only I heard her say she was going back to her room to lie down.

And she spoke so quietly.

And so close to my face that only I heard her ask me to go too.

I am desperate for that.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

1995.

I get desperate too for that hot late summer day in 1995.

When a 27 year old me turned up.

Alone.

To joined four of my friends who were seven days into a fourteen day Spanish holiday.

Barely alive.

They ran across the bare concrete floor of our small, filthy apartment to greet me.

Sending dozens and dozens of empty ‘Grants Vodka’ bottles scattering into pieces.

Before we all.

Rejuvenated.

Set about poisoning ourselves and each other for a further seven days in the sun.

I am desperate for that.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.

Oasis.

It was later that same day in Spain.

Later on that hot late summer day in 1995.

That I pulled a CD from my bag.

A newly released CD I’d bought at the airport flying out there.

I presented it.

Still in it’s cellophane.

And we put it on.

And we listened to it.

All of it.

For the very first time.

Strangely silent.

Together.

Hello.

Roll With It.

Wonderwall.

Don’t Look Back In Anger.

Hey Now!

Some Might Say.

Cast No Shadow.

She’s Electric.

Morning Glory.

Champagne Supernova.

Then.

Then we listened to what we only knew at that time as.

‘Track 3.’

Once again.

And afterwards.

It was back to poisoning ourselves and each other for a further seven days in the sun.

Desperate.

I get desperate.

I feel life slipping away.

Really, I do.

In the quiet moments.

And it’s so very sad.

Because I don’t want to go on.

To the end.

I want to go back.

I want to do it all again.