The night has this quality to reveal the extent of which my heart has stretched itself across many extremes. And tonight, licked by the darkness which colours the night, i’m trapped, once again, in solitary reflection.

And it’s not as if this moment has been born right now, at this very instance. It has existed, in tiny traces, building and building itself up.

Behind all of this tricky intellectual imagery, there exists something much more primal, more animal. The unrelenting desire to touch someone passionately, to share an intimacy that defies all words and all senses of communication. Isn’t that what we all want?

The past is a sort of guttural stop. The patterns and reasons and significance of all of those encounters have all left me, and i can’t remember them anymore. But what i remember are the intoxicating sensations of smells, sights, caresses. And yet these have long passed their expiry date, the memories raise grotesquely like a rotting, stinking carcass.

And the lack of focus…..if only i could make sense when i wanted to! But all power of mental regulation is thrown out – instead is the unforgiving assault of desire. Might i then step back and wish to be something more? To not yield to shallow feelings and to celebrate something more spiritual and selfless?

No. This is the missing ingredient. This is the little piece of suffering that makes me human.